


Brothers In Arms

by travellerintime



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, First Time, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2013-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-27 21:52:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/984035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/travellerintime/pseuds/travellerintime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam disappears from a club late one friday night. There is a dead body in the woods missing a face next to some of Sam's clothes. Sam is slipping further and further away as the war between "I shouldn't" and "I want to" rages on in Dean's mind. The truth about an... "accident" in teenage years that neither Sam nor Dean really sees the entire truth of, a pyromaniac with a grudge and Charlie all helps to push Dean towards the end of the losing battle he is fighting with his current version of morality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue; So it begins

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the wonderful demondetox on LJ. This fic was written as I think; In mental pictures, half scenarios and jumps in time and space without much punctuation. It was never really meant to be published. Without Mel this would probably be pretty much unreadable.

Dean Winchester is four years old and he is angry. He’s got his little arms crossed over his chest. His legs sticking out straight in front of him on the couch because his legs are too short to fold at the knees over the edge. He’s wearing his incredible Hulk pajamas and his favorite blue socks; the ones with plastic dots under them which help him run really fast without slipping.   
  
He’s staring at the socks. Not because they are very fascinating but because he doesn't want to look at dad who’s standing in the doorway, leaning against the door post, smiling with his legs crossed at the ankles.  
  
Dean Winchester hates his daddy. He just decided that. He hates him and he’s never ever going to talk to him again because daddy is mean. Dean narrows his eyes at the socks and pouts a little more, just for effect.  
  
“Dean…” Dad says “it’s okay. It’s going to be okay. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”  
  
Dean’s eyes cut to his father and he tightens his arms across his chest. Dad must think Dean is stupid. Nothing is okay, nothing at all. Dean might not be an adult but he knows things, okay? He heard Mommy. He heard her and she was hurting and then the ambulance came. Dean knows what happens to people who get taken away by ambulances. The ambulance came for old Mrs. Nelson down the street and she never came back and now Mr. Nelson walks around sad all the time.  
Dean doesn't say anything and dad just keeps on looking at him with that soft look in his eyes and a fond smile on his lips so Dean goes back to staring at his socks.  
  
He didn't know what had woken him at first. There was a strange sound coming from Mom and Dad’s bedroom and it scared him. It sounded like someone was hurting but wasn't able to cry. Like when Dean fell out of the tree in front of those older kids. They had laughed and Dean hadn't wanted to seem like a baby so he had held the tears in all the way home. That was what it sounded like.  
  
Then he heard Mom's voice. She was talking to Dad telling him to call the ambulance, that it was time. It was Mom making those noises Dean realized as her voice changed as she spoke and started making that scary sound again.  
  
Dean jumped out of bed and ran out into the hall and over to Mom and Dad’s bedroom door. He had tried his very best to get to her but Daddy had locked the door to their bedroom from the inside. Dean had banged and banged on the door until his hands hurt but Daddy had just told Dean to go back to his room. Dad said that everything was alright and that he would be with Dean in a moment, the tone of his voice left no room for argument. Dean was scared and he was crying but he did what Dad said, he always did. He ran back to his room, curled up on the bed and put his hands over his ears to shut out the sound.  
  
A few minutes later the flashing light of the sirens made big and scary shadows across Dean’s wall so Dean moved his hands from his ears and covered his eyes instead. There were footsteps coming up the stairs, voices of men Dean didn't know seeping through the walls and he heard Mommy say “You need to look after Dean. Just come as soon as you can,” and then the men and the ambulance left and the house became quiet.  
  
“Son. Listen to me.” Dad’s sitting down next to Dean on the worn plaid couch so Dean turns his head away from his feet and stares out the window instead.  
“Mommy’s going to be fine. She just had to go to the hospital because your little sister or brother was in a little bit of a hurry to get here and needs the doctors and the nurses help to come out.”  
  
That’s stupid, Dean thinks. He doesn't want a little sister or a little brother that hurts his Mommy and Daddy shouldn't want that either. He wants his Mommy to be at home, with him and not hurting. Dean hates the baby now too, he decides.  
  
Dad runs his fingers through Dean’s hair but Dean jerks away. He is never, ever,  _ever_ talking to dad again and Dad is not getting a single good night hug for days. Dean decides that too, all on his own. He wipes at his face. He doesn't want to cry but he can't help it. His chin is trembling and his cheeks are wet so he balls his hands up and presses them to his eyes to try and make himself stop.  
  
“Son…” Dad says again but it doesn't sound like he’s smiling anymore. He wraps his arms around Dean’s waist and lifts him up on his knee and holds him. That doesn't help Dean to stop crying at all.   
  
“…this is just what happens when babies are born. When you wake up tomorrow Mommy will be fine.” Dad continues and rocks Dean a little. “You’re going to be a big brother soon so what do you say we wipe those tears away and act like a big boy for Mommy now, huh? And first thing tomorrow we'll go and see her, how does that sound?”  
  
Dean looks up at Dad then, his face wet with tears and snot.   
  
“Promise?”  
  
“I promise. When you wake up tomorrow we’ll go straight to Mommy.” Dad wipes Dean’s face with his shirt sleeve.   
  
Dean is still crying a little as Dad carries him upstairs. Dad doesn't put Dean in his own bed though, he takes Dean with him to the big bed and tucks him in on Mommy’s side where everything smells like her and all of a sudden Dean is tired, so very tired. Daddy promised. He wouldn't break a promise Dean thinks and rubs his eyes with the back of his hands. The second he feels Dad’s arms around him he falls asleep.

  
***

When he wakes up Dad is hunching next to the bed with a big smile on his face.  
  
“Time to wake up son.” He says and ruffles Deans hair. “You've got a little brother and a mommy that can’t wait to see you.”  
  
“Mommy’s okay?” Dean asks and dad nods and smiles even wider.   
  
“I promised, didn’t I?”  
  
Dean is out of bed faster than lightning. It’s a good thing he’s got his blue socks on because he is running really fast to the bathroom to get his toothbrush. He leaves his pajamas in a heap on the floor and Dad brings him clean clothes that he puts on all by himself while Dad goes to the kitchen to make breakfast. It’s raining outside which makes Dean smile because it means he gets to wear his new jacket, the one that squeaks when he moves and his new green rubber boots. They are the best because they don’t let the water in when you jump in puddles.  
  
He eats his sandwich in the car as he watches the windshield wipers go back and forth, back and forth and his green boots wiggle in time with the music on the radio. Dean likes the song because it’s about a Mr. Robot that has a secret and Dean like robots.  
  
He thinks about his mom and about his new little brother. When Mom and Dad first told him he was going to become a big brother Dean was really excited. He thought it might be like having a friend sleep over every night. Liam in the house next door have a sister and they play together all the time. Dean had wanted that too, a friend that would never have to go home. Then Dad started to talk about selling the car, about getting a new, more family friendly car. That night Dean had had one of his episodes as Mom calls them. Dean’s not sure what that means and why an episode is different from being angry. It feels the exact same way to Dean. Dean had heard his mom and dad talk in the kitchen and he had heard Dad say that he was worried about Dean. He'd said that Dean gets way too attached to things for his own good, that he needed to learn how to let go of things. Dean didn't understand that either because how can it be wrong to love something a lot? It doesn't make sense.   
  
They ended up keeping the car but Dean had to change rooms because the baby needed the room closest to Mom and Dad’s which was totally unfair. It was Dean’s room first. The baby has done nothing but mess things up and now it’s gone and hurt Mom so much she had to go to the hospital.  
  
“Is mommy coming home with us” Dean asks but he doesn't dare to look at dad. He’s too scared that the answer will be the wrong one.  
  
“Yeah, I think so”   
  
Dean thinks he can see Dad looking at him from the corner of his eye.  
  
“But we are leaving the baby right?” Dean draws a circle with his finger on the foggy window.   
  
“Dean, that’s enough!”

  
  
***

There is a thunderstorm rolling in and lightning splits the sky above the hospital casting the grey Monday morning in sharp contrast.   
“One Mississippi, two Mississippi…” Dean mumbles. Counting as Dad taught him. The blast of thunder makes the big windows on the hospital rattle. Dean glares up and thinks that the angels in heaven that Mommy prays to doesn't seem to like this baby very much either.   
  
Mom’s pale but she looks happy when Dean storms into the room.  
  
“Hi honey,” she says and smiles at Dean. “Take your boots off before you jump up on the bed sweetheart.”  
  
Dean smiles back and puts his boots next to each other under mom’s bed and he hangs his jacket up on the chair next to it before he climbs up next to his mom and wraps his arms around her.  
  
“He’s been a little worried.” Dad informs her from where he’s standing at the foot of the bed and mom laughs a quiet fond little laugh and squeezes Dean tight to her chest.  
  
“I can tell.” She says and kisses Dean’s hair. “You know Dean,” she continues and lifts Dean’s chin up so she can look in his eyes “everything is just fine. In fact it’s better than fine.” Her eyes cut to the basket on the table next to her bed.  
  
“But you were hurting.” Dean says. He doesn’t really understand how Mom can be so happy when something had hurt her so bad. It doesn't make sense to him at all and he glares at the basket, suspecting that the reason for Mom’s pain is in there.  
  
“Dean, look at me.” Mom says and looks at him with so much love in her eyes that Dean almost starts crying again. “When babies are born it always hurts the mommy a little but you know what’s worse?”  
  
Dean shakes his head. He can't really think of anything that’s worse than something hurting his mom.  
  
“It hurts the baby too so we need to be strong for your little brother right now okay. He’s been hurt too and he’s all new to this world so I bet he’s a lot scared.”  
  
Huh. Dean had just thought that the baby was hurting mom; it never occurred to him that the baby might be in pain too. Maybe this wasn't entirely the baby’s fault. No one would hurt someone on purpose if it meant hurting themselves just as much, would they?  
  
“Did he cry?” Dean asks. He’s starting to feel a little ashamed for being angry at the baby.  
  
“Yes he did. He cried all morning until he fell asleep.” Mom answers and strokes a lock of hair from Dean’s forehead. “But I think he will feel a lot better now that his big brother is here to look out for him, don't you think?”  
  
Dean looks at his dad who’s leaning over the basket with the sappiest look on his face that Dean’s ever seen and then back at mom.   
  
“Can I see him?”  
  
“Of course you can honey.” Mom says with a bright smile. “John, can you bring him over here please?”  
  
Dad is holding what looks like nothing more than a little bundle of blankets to his chest and when he walks over he lowers the bundle so Dean can see.  
Dean isn't sure what to expect as he peeks over the edge of the blanket but it isn’t this. The baby is so little. Much smaller than Dean thought he’d be. He’s got a tiny little nose in a tiny little face. Tiny little ears on a tiny little head covered in brown fluffy hair that is so thin you can see the scalp underneath. The fingers are so small it looks like they might break if you touch them wrong and the pang of guilt that rips through Dean makes his bottom lip tremble. This baby could never hurt anyone on purpose. Dean can see that now.   
  
Dean’s lip is still quivering when he looks up at dad.  
  
“What’s his name?” He asks.  
  
“Sam. His name is Sam.” Dad answers without looking away from the sleeping bundle.  
  
Dean nods. It’s a nice name,  _Sam_. It’s a nice person’s name.   
  
“Can I hold him?” Dean is not sure why he feels the need to have the baby, Sam, in his arms but it feels necessary somehow, like all of a sudden there is an empty space in the circle of his arms that he never noticed until now.  
  
Dad glances at mom. He looks unsure, like he is reluctant to let Sam go, like maybe he had emptiness too. Mom just nods and smiles. “Just sit up straight and mind his head.”  
  
Dean looks down at the little face sticking out of the blue blanket he’s holding. Sam has got his eyes closed and his tiny hands resting on top of the blanket. Dean can almost feel his heart swell with pride. He can hold Sam so easily. He’s holding a person and his arms aren't even tired.  
  
The room lights up and the sharp boom of thunder that follows just a fraction of a second after makes Dean jump. He didn't even get to one Mississippi… Sam balls his little hands up into fists, scrunches his pink face up and starts to cry. Mom reaches out to take him away but Dean just holds his brother tighter. He’s got this. He knows what to do. He mumbles all the things Mom and Dad usually say to Dean when he’s scared.  
  
“It’s okay.” He says. “It’s going to be okay. There is nothing to be afraid of. I’m here.”   
  
Dean reaches out to touch Sam’s little wailing fist and when he does Sam wraps those tiny little fingers around Dean’s thumb and holds on tight. He stops crying and looks up at Dean with curious eyes that flicker across Dean’s face. Dean can feel the smile on his face stretch until his cheeks hurt.  
  
“Mom! He is really, really strong Mom!”  
  
Mom just laughs in that way that makes everything feel light and safe.  
  
“M’sorry Sam. M’sorry I was mean to you.” Dean says and looks down at where Sam’s hand is joined with his own on top of the blue baby blanket and all of a sudden Dean feels really big and really brave. His hand seems huge next to his brother’s and Dean thinks that he finally understands what Mommy and Daddy’s been telling him about what it means to be a big brother. Sam can't take care of himself at all, he’s too little and right then Dean makes a new decision. He’s going to be the best big brother in the world. Maybe babies need to hurt a little when they are born and maybe they get scared of things like thunderstorms but now that Dean’s here, nothing bad will happen to Sam ever again.


	2. The man without a face

The speed of the passing of time is relative. Or so Dean has heard. Funny how, in hindsight everything seems to pass in a flash. You can never really remember time passing, only the thoughts and feelings that were a result of it. Dean can remember the feeling of never ending in hell and the years spent without Sam, but looking back it all seems compressed to single moments. Blips on a timeline that help him organize his life in befores and afters.  
  
He doesn't remember much of the day Sam was born. He remembers the storm and the fond look on his parent’s faces. He remembers the warmth of Sam in his arms and he remembers feeling equal measures of guilt and pride. He doesn't know why he felt that way, Dad never explained and Mom never got a chance to. He also remembers a sense of purpose, a life mission claimed; Keep Sam out of harm’s way. He doesn't know where that came from either, all he knows for certain is that he remembers nothing from before that day. It’s his first blip, the moment of awakening; there is nothing before Sam, just darkness and then, a whole lot of afters.  
  
He has always tried his best to keep Sam safe. He thinks he has done okay given the circumstances. He has fought threats of demons and angels, heaven and hell and even himself. It has not been easy but he’s done the best that he could and Sam turned out okay in the end. More than okay.   
  
Life is slowly starting to go back to the way it used to be. Demons and angels too busy cleaning up the mess that the years of anarchy created both upstairs and downstairs to have time to bother with humans. Dean is once again spending his time hunting monsters and burning bones with his brother next to him. Just as it should be. Just as it always should have been. Sam happy as can be, going through the endless numbers of books in the bunker and Dean found a weapons collection in the basement. Life is pretty good.  
  
Of course that’s when the ground shifts beneath Dean’s feet again and hurls him in to free fall.    
  
                                                                          

***

  
Sam goes missing on a Friday just after one am from a club just south of Denver, Colorado while Dean’s in the bathroom fucking a voluptuous girl with love handles meaty enough to grab as he takes her from behind, skirt pulled up around her waist, panties curled down around her ankles and joint still glowing between her fingers. She makes the prettiest sounds when she comes and Dean even takes his time buying her a drink afterwards because he likes her sense of humor and she has an infectious smile, dimples deep in apple cheeks  
.   
Sam and Dean just finished a job, or rather they decided that it was someone else’s job. What they thought was a vengeful spirit turned out to be a very much alive psychotic pyromaniac with a grudge. The guy was the son of a roadside hooker that worked the motels, truck stops and diners that were spread out along the Colorado roads. After she was killed on the job her son had taken it upon himself to rid the world from people who had a habit of paying for the type of services his mother had provided by sedating them and setting them on fire, often reducing the truck or the motel they were in to ashes in the process. Something about fire cleansing their sin or some shit like that, that Dean had just shaken his head at and muttered “As if that would make a difference.” They left their findings for the police to find and took off. Since they’d found themselves with an unexpected night off Sam had suggested a nights out. 

They don’t go to clubs often. It’s not really their kind of scene but every now and again they find themselves under the strobe lights for no other reason than for a moment’s change of scenery and a chance to feel like everybody else. Nobody would ever think to look for them in a place like that and that’s what’s so appealing with the whole thing. Dean went out dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans so tight Sam said he looked like a stripper and Sam left the motel wearing his usual baggy jeans and a shirt he swore was the latest trend when Dean laughed at it. Dean suspected that Sam got fucked over by the sales clerk at the store because there is no way that shirt weren't something that got left behind after the latest big sale. 

Dean usually spends these nights watching the sweaty bodies on the dance floor and ordering the most outrageous drinks he can find on the menu while Sam glares at him and looks uncomfortable until he’s drunk enough to dance and make a general spectacle of himself. Sam has pretty good coordination after all the fight training he’s done but he lacks rhythm like no one else that Dean’s ever seen. It’s fun and lighthearted, a tiny oasis in a world of pain and paranoia.

This night started off just like all the others except Dean usually doesn't hook up. It has always been sort of an unspoken rule between them that these nights are just for them, brother bonding time as Sam likes to call it, so when Dean sauntered off with the girl on his arm after placing a beer on the table in front of Sam, Sam was glaring daggers. Dean just smirked and waved him off. “Loosen up a little Sammy. I’ll be back before you've finished that beer.”

Dean’s not sure why he decided to do that but he thinks it’s got something to do with the way Sam was inching closer in the booth they were sharing. For once Dean was the one that was not keeping up with Sam when it came to the number of drinks they were finishing and he was slightly more sober than his brother when the warmth of Sam’s body had started seeping through his clothes. It was too soon, Dean hadn't been wasted enough to not care. When Sam had leaned over to whisper something and his soft lips had accidentally brushed across the shell of Dean’s ear Dean had excused himself. He’d gone to the bar to pick up another drink for himself but he had run in to Apple-Cheeks half way there. She was beautiful and inviting and Dean had a lot of frustration to burn off so he had grabbed her and kissed her right there in the middle of the club.

By the time Dean finds Sam’s phone and his half-finished beer abandoned on their table, close to an hour has passed since he saw his brother last and by the time he’s made sure Sam isn’t just out of sight somewhere in the club another twenty minutes are lost. The doormen had seen a guy fitting Sam’s description being helped out of the club by another man. “He probably headed home,” one of the guards said “he was hammered.”

 ***

They have done a lot of stupid stuff on their nights out but none of them has ever regretted going. Until now. Now Dean regrets it so bad he can taste it like bile on his tongue. 

He screams Sam’s name across the parking lot while he runs between every car, around every corner searching for him but all he finds is what’s left of that outrageous shirt and one of Sam’s boots. Apple-Cheeks finds him kneeling at the end of the lot hyperventilating into his hands with Sam’s clothes in his lap. He’s beyond drunk and possibly still a little stoned and he has no clue what to do. Sam was here and now he’s not. Dean screams at the girl to fuck off because he can’t stand to look at her anymore, can’t deal with the sound of her voice. If he hadn't gone with her Sam would still be here and Dean wouldn’t be standing on all fours screaming into the asphalt.

She leaves, throwing worried looks over her shoulder as she calls down a cab. Dean knows he’s being unfair and he wants to call her back and tell her he’s sorry but all that comes out are hitching sobs that tear his throat.

These nights are not supposed to end like this. This is supposed to be the one time where they can relax, disappear into flashing lights, writhing young bodies and pounding music. They were supposed to walk back to the motel laughing with their arms slung over each other’s shoulders, tripping over each other’s feet and finally stumble into bed drunk and happy. These were the only nights Dean ever gave himself permission to touch. Once his anxiety was temporarily shushed by generous amounts of whiskey he could allow himself to brush the hair out of Sam’s eyes and have Sam fall asleep with his head on Dean’s shoulder. He’s never understood why but there’s always been something special about these nights, a forgiving feel to them that makes Dean’s defenses weaker.  _What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas_ types of nights. They were supposed to fall asleep to some late night movie with a bottle of Jack tucked in between them and wake up slightly embarrassed and grumpy but with newfound energy. 

No one was supposed to find them, not on these nights. Dean knows that it was sort of naïve on their part, maybe even a bit delusional but it was all they had, one thin sliver of an illusion of normal and now that is gone too and in his drunken confused state Dean feels like everything is lost.   _“Look out for Sammy, look out for Sammy, look out for Sammy, look out…”_

Dean lies down right there on the ground between a pale colored pickup and an obnoxiously blue ’72 Camaro, staring straight up into the night sky trying to get his eyes to focus. He counts the stars to try and get a handle on the panic attack, counting usually helps. He knows that he should be doing something, anything, but he can’t get his thoughts in a straight line long enough to figure out where to start so he just keeps counting until he can feel his heartbeat slowing down. 

What the hell could manage to grab his giant baby brother in a crowded club and vanish without Dean noticing? A lot of things, he muses as he watches veil thin clouds pass across a crescent moon. He gives himself a few more moments to get his head on straight, or at least as straight as it can get considering, before he slowly rises to his feet. He calls Sam’s name again and holds his breath while he’s waiting for some kind of response but there’s nothing, nothing but the muffled thump, thump, thump from the club and the sound of traffic. He staggers back to where he found the shirt and the boot figuring that that is as good a place as any to start. Using that spot as a center point he starts walking in increasingly wider circles. He searches the parking lot again without finding any other sign that Sam was ever there. He widens the search, scanning ditches, dumpsters and the forest area across the road. He finds Sam’s second boot at the foot of a crooked scrub oak and the cooling body of a man not more than 50 yards away from that. 

The man is lying face down in the dry leafs and it looks like he’d been trying to crawl towards the main road before his lights went out, judging by the tracks left behind him. Dean grabs the man’s short hair and turns his head around and he almost recoils at the sight. The front of his head is completely smashed in. There is nothing but blood, bone and ripped skin where there should be a face. Dean lets go of the hair making the head drop back on the ground with a sickening thud and wipes his hands on his jeans.

The dead guy is wearing a dark suit and shiny black shoes. He’s slightly shorter than Dean and looks a little heavier but not much. He’s broad shouldered and looks like he would have been able to stand his ground in a fight against most people. Dean looks at the body then down at the boot in his hand and then slowly back at the body on the ground. The pieces of information slowly slotting into place in his sluggish mind. “What the fuck did you do to my brother?” he hisses between clenched teeth because there is no doubt in Dean’s mind that he’s looking at someone that’s been on the receiving end of his little brother’s unhinged rage.

Sam doesn't come to that point often but when he does things happen. It’s that black rage always simmering just underneath Sam’s skin. You rarely see it but most people can feel it like a force field around him. Usually they think it’s his height and his looks that do it, what pulls them in, catching their attention and holding it, making them want to do anything he asks of them but Dean knows better. Fear feels very much like fascination when it’s no more than a whisper in the back of your mind.

Dean leaves the guy there. He doesn't call it in because he figures whatever the guy did to end up like this he deserves to be left out for the crows.

He finds Sam sitting with his back against a rock staring out over a badly managed park almost two hours later. Dean has had time to go from royally plastered to properly hung over and his throat is so dry it takes him three tries to get Sam’s name across his lips. By the time he manages to choke it out he is already on his knees by Sam’s side, hands roaming across his body feeling for blood or broken bones. He finds neither, only bruised knuckles and dried blood at the corners of Sam’s mouth and smeared down the front of his jeans. His feet seem pretty messed up though, socks a reddish brown and heavy with fresh blood and dirt but Dean, figures he has time to worry about that later.

  

 

 Sam’s breathing but he’s not moving. He blinks slowly and his eyes seem locked somewhere in the distance so Dean shakes him.

“Sam? Sammy? Sammy, c’mon. You in there?”

Sam’s eyes are glazed over and vacant but they meet Dean’s at the sound of the familiar nickname. 

“You found me.” There is no emotion in Sam’s voice; it’s just a blank statement but Dean still smiles back at him.

“Don’t I always?”

“Sam,” Dean is using his big brother voice now, “you need to tell me what you took. What are you on?”

“Nothin’” Sam slurs, staring unblinking into Dean’s eyes, pupils just a pinprick of black in kaleidoscope colored eyes.

“Yeah right, whatever.”

Dean doesn't believe him for a second. He’s seen every variation of Sam intoxicated and this is a Sam on heavy medication, no doubt about it. Now Dean’s perfectly aware that just a few hours ago he might have been in better shape than Sam is now but just barely so he’s not in any position to judge here. He just sighs and brushes dust of his knees as he stands up.

“Can you walk?”

“Don’t think so, m’feet…” Sam’s head lolls slightly from side to side as he tries to keep his eyes on his brother as Dean gets up.

“Okay… Okay…” Dean scratches the back of his neck “You know what, you stay here and I go get the car. We need to put a few hours between us and this place asap cause there’s a dead guy missing his face a few miles in and I wanna be far away from here before some early riser with a dog finds him.”

“Wha’ dead guy?” Sam’s trying for his concerned and confused look but the only reason Dean can tell is because he knows him, really he just looks like he wants to throw up.

“The guy in the suit who I am pretty sure got his face smashed in by  _you._ ”

“Oh.” Sam’s eyes dart between Dean’s like he’s not sure how to react to that information. “I… I don’t remember.”

“I bet you don’t.”

Sam’s always been blessed with the ability to forget anything that happens if he gets wasted enough, Dean on the other hand never does. He remembers every single horrible and embarrassing little detail that’s ever happened but he’s made a habit of lying about it so he doesn't have to talk about it.

“Just sit tight, okay little brother. I’ll be back with the car in twenty.” Dean starts to walk down the partially overgrown dirt road leading into the park. “And don’t crawl off somewhere!” he shouts over his shoulder as Sam disappears from view.

***

Dean makes a quick job of packing up their stuff and returning the room key. He puts the med kit in the passenger seat for easy reach and stocks up on bottles of water from the vending machine, draining one before he takes off leaving yet another motel fading into the background. 

The tall weeds growing in the middle of the dirt road scrape the underside of the Impala as he guides her as close as he can get to where Sam’s still sitting with his head hanging between his shoulders. Dean leaves the headlights on and directed straight at Sam while he runs over to help him back to the car. The first try getting Sam on his feet ends in Sam hissing in pain and collapsing back against the rock. Turns out Sam’s feet are pretty much useless. When Dean removes his socks they are covered in blood and angry looking cuts along the soles so Dean hunches down in front of him.

“C’mon. Arms around my neck Sam.”

“Huh?” Sam looks up, shielding his eyes from the harsh light of the headlights.

“Arms, Sam. Around my neck.“

Sam hesitates but when Dean motions with his head to  _'come on already'_  he wraps his long arms around his brother’s shoulders. Dean grabs both of Sam’s thighs in a tight grip.

“Hold on Sasquatch.” he grunts as he straightens his own legs and staggers to his feet.

They don’t fall but it’s a close call. Sam is much heavier and bigger now than he was the last time Dean carried him like this but Dean figures it’s the fastest way to get them both to the car, his pride and sanity be damned.

Half way there Sam seems to be catching up to the events that are taking place.

“Dude…” he drawls “You're giving me a piggyback ride.” 

“Yet another spot on observation there, Sam.”

“I remember when you…”

“Don’t go all sentimental on me. Just shut up and hang on, we're almost there.”

Dean doesn't want to have that conversation, in fact he is desperate not to because he too remembers. He remembers exactly when he carried Sam like this last time and that’s not where he wants his mind to go right now… Only it’s already there. It went there the second he could feel Sam hot against his back and Sam’s breath against his neck. 

 ***

Sam was fifteen and he was drunk, they both were. When Dean thinks about it the situation was pretty much the same as now, except back then there were no dead bodies and no feeling of dread in the pit of Dean’s stomach. Maybe there should have been. Sam had held on for dear life and urged Dean on as Dean took off running in the direction of their motel, laughing so hard he almost ran them into a ditch. They were almost home when Dean had felt Sam’s hard on pressed snugly up against his lower back. Sam’s touch had changed then. His hands loosening their death grip on Dean’s shirt and spread out across his chest, warm and heavy. When Dean felt the slight press of lips against the side of his neck he stumbled and fell, face first into the uncut grass by the side of the road. Sam a dead weight on top of him and Dean’s own hard cock pressed against the ground.

Dean has never forgiven himself for that one. Sam was young, full of hormones and having his dick squeezed and rubbed against another warm body, he had every excuse, Dean on the other hand, had not. He had gotten hard because of Sam, because of his own little brother and no matter how Dean had twisted and turned it over in his mind over the years he never found a single good reason why he shouldn't be castrated and thrown in jail for how he’d let Sam rub off on him there in the grass and for how he himself had come undone just from the sounds Sam was making.

It only happened that one time and they never talked about it because really, what was there to say. Sam probably didn't remember anyway but Dean did, he does, he remembers everything. He remembers the smell of grass and dirt, how the pine needles had pricked the sensitive skin of his palms as he pressed his hands to the ground, the sweet burning pain of Sam’s teeth digging into his shoulder, the weight of Sam’s body as he grinded down in smooth long movements and the sounds, god help him but the breathy gasps and moans, the whispered promises, the words never spoken before or since that dripped out of Sam’s mouth still echoing in Dean’s mind at the most inappropriate times, sending heat down his spine, running sticky sweet like honey and pooling low in his belly. Hell itself wasn't hot enough to burn that sin from his soul.

Once Sam is folded into the backseat and the doors are closed around him Dean takes a minute just to clear his head. He’s spent all his adult life building a wall in his mind to close his emotions in but there are always cracks, always week spots that let them seep through like smoke, fogging his mind up and corroding his resolve. He looks over the roof of the Impala at the way the dark is giving way to purple and orange in the east and just breathes, letting the morning cold fill his chest and ease the heat in his blood and the ache in his heart. Once he feels somewhat in control again he slides in behind the wheel and pats the dashboard a few times as he whispers “C’mon Baby. Let’s carry little brother to safety huh.”


	3. Another Motel

About forty five miles east of Denver Dean pulls into yet another motel parking lot. He’s tired and he doesn't want to wait taking care of Sam’s feet any longer. There are open wounds on his soles and god knows what he managed to step in while running through the woods.   
  
The motel is not too shabby. Slightly nicer than the usual roadside kind but not extravagant in anyway and totally affordable. Dean smiles at the tired looking motel clerk as he hands Dean his key. It was meant as a sort of apology for the late hour but the old man just shakes his head at nothing in particular, turns his back on Dean and disappears into the back room with a grunt.  
  
Sam’s drowsy but not out cold as Dean returns with the key and opens the back door. He folds Sam’s legs out so his feet are hanging over the edge of the seat.   
  
“Hey buddy, you’re gonna have to work with me here.” he says as he grips his brother under his shoulders and tries to get him to sit up. Sam sways a bit but he remains seated. “Same as last time, okay? Just hold on and I’ll carry you.”   
  
Dean can feel Sam scoot closer on the seat until his long legs brackets Dean where he’s hunched down by the car with his back to Sam, long arms wrapping around his shoulders and holding on.   
  
Sam feels heavier this time. The adrenaline is starting to give way to exhaustion and Dean grinds his teeth together and staggers to the door with his brother on his back, burning through his final energy reserves.  
  
Once Dean’s got Sam on his back on the bed furthest from the door he sinks down to the floor with his back against the bed frame. His eyes feel raw and his body is heavy. He’s so tired he could fall asleep where he’s sitting but he needs to take a look at Sam’s feet first. He rubs his eyes with the back of his hands and takes a few deep breaths, he just needs a moment.  
  
“I’m sorry.” Sam’s voice is low and raspy and it startles Dean a little “I didn't mean to cause this much trouble.”  
  
Dean turns around on his ass and rests his chin on the mattress, looking up at Sam’s face.   
  
“Don’t worry about it. Just lay back and let me take a look at your feet.”  
  
Sam closes his eyes with a sigh and turns over on his stomach.   
  
“’Kay” he mumbles into the pillow.  
   
Dean arms himself with the med kit, a bucket and a few bottles of water before kneeling at the foot of the bed where Sam’s feet are sticking out. Dean adjusts the light so he can get a better look at the damage. The feet are clearly swollen. They are hot to the touch and no doubt at risk of becoming infected. Dean puts the bucket under Sam’s feet and empties two bottles of water over them, trying to rinse the worst of the dirt out of the wounds. What he can’t rinse out he gets with tweezers and cotton before coating them in antiseptic cream and bandaging them up.  
  
Sam twitches a little but doesn't say a word, he doesn't even hiss even though it should hurt like hell and Dean figures it’s the drugs still in his system that’s responsible for that fortunate fact.  
  
Dean lets a finger trail along the inside of Sam’s shin where his pants have ridden up and left the skin bare. He circles his fingers around Sam’s ankle just above the bandage. He just holds them there for a few seconds. He feels the familiar warmth of Sam seep into his cold aching fingers and he sighs before he catches himself and lets his hand fall down into his own lap with a thump. His hands are always itching to touch any part of Sam that they can, they always have and probably always will. He used to grab Sam by his ankles and blow raspberries on the soles of his feet until Sam cried with laughter and screamed “Stoppit Dee, stoppit. I’ll tell Dad.” Then Sam’s feet were small and chubby with soft soles and pink skin, now they are big and strong. Hardened skin is covering the soles of them and thick veins are running like a web across the top. There’s nothing there anymore to even suggest that these are the same feet as the ones Dean remembers, but they are, they just grew up with the rest of his brother and touching like that, like it is Dean's right, like it's something Sam needs, it is not okay anymore  
  
“Hey Sam, you still awake?”  
  
“Mmm…”  
  
“You gonna tell me what you took or what?”  
  
“I told you. Nothin’”  
  
“Don’t give me that bullshit man. I can tell you’re on  _something_  and it’s not beer”    
  
Sam stirs then. He lifts his head and looks back over his shoulder at Dean who’s still hunched at the end of the bed.  
  
“I didn’t take it. Not on purpose. I think… I think I was roofied?” He makes the statement sound like a question, probably to take the edge off so Dean won’t go into cardiac arrest on the spot but it doesn't have any calming effect at all.  
  
“… WHAT?!” Dean practically shouts before he remembers that people are actually sleeping in the rooms around them and continues in a somewhat more normal tone of voice. “Why would anyone do that? That’s just…”  
  
“Unnecessary.“  
  
“What?”  
  
“ _Unnecessary._  “  
  
“I heard you. What the hell does that mean?” Dean throws his arms out, palms facing Sam.  
  
Sam sighs and rolls over on his back, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.  
  
“It just…“ Sam sighs again and hides his face in the crook of his arm. “I just… He didn't have to, s’all. I would have gotten him off… he wouldn't have been disappointed.”  
  
Dean goes cold. He can feel it spreading like a physical thing from the base of his spine, all through his body until it reaches the tips of his fingers and the top of his head. Out of all the reasons he could think of as to why someone would want to drug Sam, rape wouldn't even have ranked in the top hundreds. Kidnapping - sure, robbery – probable, some supernatural piece of shit looking for revenge - most definitely, rape – No. Fucking. Way! Who the hell would get it in his mind to try and rape a 6’5 mountain of muscle?  
  
His eyes travel up Sam’s body and get stuck on the dried blood stains across his jeans.  
  
“No Dean. It’s not mine, it’s…” That’s as far as Sam gets before Dean in yanking his jeans down over his hips and sure enough, dark blue fingerprints are scattered across the pale skin of Sam’s hips, angry red scratches go from the top of his right hip and disappears under the white elastic band of his boxers. Dean can feel himself progressively paling. He slowly raises his eyes to look at Sam, who does seem to have lost some of his color as well.  
  
“Dean… Nothin’ happened… I fought him off…”  
  
“I’m gonna fucking kill him!”  
  
“He’s already dead, remember. You told me.” Sam picks a little at the dried blood on his pants. “He is gone, right?”  
  
“Yeah… yeah he is.”  
  
Dean drags his hands down his face and then he takes Sam’s hand and moves it from the reddish brown stains on his jeans and puts it down on Sam’s chest. He slowly starts to unbutton Sam's belt and fly.  
  
“M’just gonna get these off, ‘kay.” he murmurs as he pulls both the jeans and the underwear down Sam’s legs and off. “Sit up for me will ‘ya?”   
  
He pulls Sam’s shirts over his head and throws every piece of Sam's clothing in the trash, slamming the lid shut a little harder than was absolutely necessary. He wets a washcloth in warm water and washes Sam off as much as he can, which is its own kind of hell. Sam is naked, only the fabric of the cloth separating tanned skin pulled tight over muscles from the palm of Dean’s hand. The shame is almost painful in its intensity but well deserved. Dean gathers a clean pair of boxers, a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt from Sam’s duffle.  
  
“Here you go.” He says as he puts them down in a neat pile next to Sam on the bed.  “Put these on. I’m just gonna hit the bathroom. I need… I'm just gonna...”  
  
“Yeah, okay.”  
  
As the door closes behind him Dean slides down to the floor with his back against it. He’s not sure what to do with this. He was totally unprepared for it. He knows he has the drugs in Sam’s blood to thank for him finding out anything at all. Had Sam been able to sleep it all off before he opened his mouth Dean’s sure he would have gotten a very different and not as truthful explanation of what had happened back at the club. He’s not sure whether knowing is a curse or blessing just yet though.  
  
Anger is boiling just under the surface. He can’t believe Sam let some stranger get the drop on him like that. Fucking rookie mistake. It’s not like him. What the hell was he thinking? Once Sam is okay Dean is going to give him a stern talking to about that. Dean also can’t seem to wrap his mind around the fact that someone would actually try and force themselves on Sam.  _His_  Sam.   
  
Dean feels the familiar bitter taste of shame at the back of his throat. He’s not just angry, he’s jealous. Someone tried to force themselves on Sam and God help him, he’s jealous. What kind of a sick fuck is he really? Then he remembers. Something Sam said.  _Unnecessary_... Sam would have gone with the guy anyway.   
  
In an instant the jealousy ignites and goes from a dull pressure to a raging hot flame burning through his body. Sam had wanted the faceless dead fuck in the woods.   
  
Dean repeatedly kicks the thin air in front of him in a fit of rage. The intensity of it surprising even himself. He’s furious. Jealousy moving like hot black tar through his veins. He wants to break something, wants to tear into something with his bare hands until they're nothing but oozing stumps of flesh and blood and bone.  
He takes a few deep breaths. He’s being selfish and he knows it. He’s making this all about him when it’s not. It has nothing to do with him. Sam needs him and he’s freaking out in the bathroom, being jealous over something that he has no damn business wanting anyway. He splashes his face with ice cold water a few times. It manages to ground him a bit but it doesn't take away the dark look in his eyes but he figures Sam won’t notice in the state he’s in anyway.   
When Dean has gotten himself together, gotten his breathing and heartbeat under control and reemerges from the bathroom Sam’s dressed in the clean clothes Dean gave him. He’s on his side with the covers pulled up to his nose and he’s sound asleep.

  
***

   
When Dean finally stirs awake in the early afternoon it’s to the smell of coffee and bacon. He rubs his face against the pillow with a content moan and for a blissful moment yesterday is still hidden away in the back corners of his mind. The bliss is short lived though. As he rolls over on his back and opens his eyes he meets Sam’s gaze, faded look in swollen eyes, half hidden behind dirty strands of too long hair.  
  
“Morning.” Sam says with a soft voice. “I brought breakfast.” He offers a careful smile. “It’s kind of a thank you… and an apology… for yesterday.”  
  
He holds out the coffee until Dean sits up and takes it. It smells like heaven and it tastes even better. This is not the regular shitty motel coffee.  
  
“You okay?” Dean asks over the rim of the mug.  
  
“Yeah… pretty much. Sore, a hell of a hangover and some trouble walking but yeah… I’ll be fine.”  
  
“Good.” Dean slurps on his coffee.  
  
“I really am sorry. I was reckless. It won’t happen again.”  
  
“Yeah about that…” Dean frowns and lowers his mug.  
  
“Dean don’t! Just… not today okay? I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry. Can we please leave it at that for now?” Sam pleads.  
  
Dean holds up his hands in surrender. He figures Sam looks wrecked and guilty enough as it is and there’s really no point in making it worse right now.  
  
“Okay fine.” he says and holds out a hand to Sam. “Now hand over that bacon. I know you got it. I can smell it.”   
  
Sam huffs out a laugh and hands over the take out bag he’s been holding.  
  
Dean watches Sam from the corner of his eye while finishing his eggs and bacon. Sam’s limping and winces when he thinks Dean can't see. His feet are obviously bothering him and Dean has to wonder how much effort it really took him to go out and get Dean’s breakfast.  
  
“Hey man. Thanks for this.” He holds up the box and smiles with a mouth full of food and Sam smiles back.   
  
“You’re welcome.” he says and Dean writes this morning down as a good one in spite of recent events.   
  
Dean really wants to take off as soon as he’s showered. There is the pressing matter of getting the hell out of dodge looming over him but there is something he needs to do first. Before they check out Dean takes a look at Sam’s feet. They are still looking red and swollen and they need to be cleaned and dressed again because Sam crammed his feet down his boots and went for a walk this morning.   
  
Dean makes a quick run down to the local mall to get some more antibiotics and while he’s there he gets a pair of Sam sized sandals that the sales girl promises are soft to walk in and won't press against the foot. Dean tries them on just in case, flopping back and forth in the store a few times in the two sizes too big shoes just to make sure she’s not making shit up before he pays and heads back.  
  
Sam wears an expression of slight amusement as he puts his new sandals on while listening to Dean as he tells him about the whole shoe shopping ordeal. The mall has always had a slightly traumatizing effect on Dean. That many clueless civilians in one place, it’s a disaster waiting to happen, that and once he lost Sam in the crowd at a mall in Minneapolis while paying for ice cream. He doubts he’ll ever really get over that one. He still has nightmares about it every now and then.  
  
When he’s made sure Sam’s got the shoes on right Dean carries all their stuff out to the car with Sam limping behind and just after dinnertime they are back on the road, heading east on highway 36 towards Lebanon, Kansas.  
  
Sam swallows two painkillers pretty much the second Dean hits the gas. He claims he has a headache but Dean suspects his feet are hurting more than he wants to let on so Dean tells him to put his feet up, motioning to his own legs.   
  
“Just throw ‘em over here and get some rest” he says in his  _it’s no big deal_  voice.   
  
Sam eyes him with suspicion at first but seems to accept the gesture for what it is. He shrugs and turns in his seat until he can stretch his legs out over Dean and leans back against the door.   
  
“Just wake me if I get too heavy, okay.” he says on a yawn.   
 _  
He’s not heavy. He’s my brother_ , Dean’s mind helpfully supplies before he has time to stop it. Thankfully it stays inside his head.  
  
Dean drives with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on Sam’s leg, drawing tiny circles on the denim with his thumb. He’s not even aware that he’s doing it. It’s just one of those things he used to do when they were younger to help Sam relax, back in the days when Sam laying his feet or his head in Dean’s lap was an everyday occurrence. It’s hardwired into his system, no thought required. Sam notices though and he watches Dean’s profile against the landscape rushing by with a mix of surprise and sadness, but Dean doesn't notice that either.  
  
Sam is sleeping off his hangover with his face pressed against the passenger window as the Impala speeds through the open farmland and the local radio station is talking about how a pyromaniac seems to be eluding the police and Dean shakes his head.  _Fucking armatures_ , he thinks as they move on to the next news, a violent murder just outside Denver. The victim was a Lucas Carlson, a well-known businessman in the area. Apparently he was last seen kissing another man outside a local nightclub. Dean turns the radio off with a snap and tightens his hands on the wheel.   
  
As they pass through what’s left of Last Chance, Colorado Dean narrows his eyes at the faded sign. For some reason it feels like it’s trying to tell him something.


	4. It takes two to speak the truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes two to speak the truth: one to speak, and another to hear.  
> -Henry David Thoreau

It feels like a blessing when Dean finally gets to close the heavy metal door of the Men Of Letters’ bunker and lock the outside world out. He’s had enough of it for now. Within these walls it’s his and Sam’s world and it feels a little like home. He knows the way it smells and the way the sound of their footsteps echo between the walls and he’s got his own bed in his own room filled with his own stuff. It’s a haven.

Sam is still pale and slightly out of it though. He’s been popping painkillers like candy for the last hour and he limps and sways on his feet as he makes his way to the big armchair in the library.

“You okay there Sammy?”

“Yeah. It’s just a fever or something.” Sam says and sinks down into the chair. “Just need some sleep.”

Dean eyes his brother, eyebrows stitched together in the middle with worry. If there’s a fever there’s an infection. Sam is shivering so Dean wraps a blanket around his shoulders before getting the box with all the medical supplies. Dean kneels in front of his brother and with careful hands he unbuckles his sandals to unwrap the bandages.

The left foot seems to be healing nicely, the cuts are closing up but when Dean un-wraps the right one he almost has to turn his head away because the smell of infection hits him like a punch in the face. The swelling has pulled Sam’s skin so tight over his flesh it almost looks shiny and the color has changed from the pinkish red it was this morning to a deep red that fades into purple around the cuts.  He cleans the wounds, redresses them and makes sure Sam takes both antibiotics and something to keep the fever down before he lets his little brother doze off to sleep. He’ll give it a couple of more days and if Sam’s not getting better Dean’s going to drive him to the hospital.

Dean stretches out until his back pops and his head spins. The last twenty four hours have taken its toll and Dean aches. Heart, mind and body, they all feel raw, tender like one big bruise and Dean lets himself fall backwards onto the couch with a sigh.

He likes it here. Granted it is a bunker and it doesn’t have much of a homey feel to it but Dean has tried to make it feel like their own place as best as he could. He hasn’t had a home since he lived with Lisa and as nice as that was, suburbia was never really his thing. He always felt misplaced somehow, like he didn’t match the décor. Like that piece of furniture you inherit that just doesn’t fit anywhere so you keep moving it around until finally it ends up in the garage because you can’t bring yourself to throw it out. The niceness of it and the pastel colors made him feel soiled and grimy, like a worn action man in a new dollhouse. The bunker might not be a home in the traditional sense but it‘s theirs and he kind of likes the slight industrial feel of it. The concrete and the iron, it suits them somehow. 

He checks on Sam one final time. He tucks the blanket tighter around him and leaves him sleeping in the chair before letting himself drift off in the couch next to his brother.

  
***

The infection in Sam’s foot gets worse before it gets better and for a few days Dean feels like he’s not doing much, other than making sure Sam takes his antibiotics and tries to keep the fever down. He calls the hospital a few times for advice but declines when they ask him to bring Sam in. Every trip to a hospital is a risk of getting discovered and as long as he feels he’s got it under control he’s not going to risk giving their location away. He gives Sam water, cooks soup and takes care of the wounds on Sam’s feet and when the fever finally breaks Dean is exhausted. Three nights in a row spent in a chair beside Sam’s bed. That last part was maybe not necessary if Dean’s completely honest with himself but he couldn’t bring himself to be anywhere else.

Sam is quiet when he starts to come around, and he is different. Not in any big way, just barely noticeable. Dean doesn’t know what to make of it but it’s almost like Sam has faded around the edges. Blurred into the background and has become just a little bit transparent. Not in a physical way of course, he’s still there solid as ever but there is something about him that is just a little bit off.

Sam spends most of his time in an armchair with his feet on a footrest reading through the library or surfing the internet. Dean tries to give him space, he really does. He cooks, he works out, pokes around in the old storage rooms looking for anything to keep him occupied, anything to keep him from losing his mind. When he asks Sam how he is Sam just answers “Fine.”, when Dean asks him about what happened that night in Denver he just says “Not now Dean.”

Weeks pass like this and Dean’s starting to get really frustrated. There are things about this that Dean doesn’t yet understand. It’s obvious that there is more to the story than what Sam has given away so far but Sam doesn’t seem interested in bringing up the conversation at all. In fact he doesn’t seem to want to have a conversation about anything. He answers when spoken to in a friendly enough voice and he nods and hums along when Dean is talking, but that’s about it. He doesn’t look at Dean unless Dean’s talking to him and even then it’s like he just glances at him in passing. There are no  _Hey, get this_ , no  _Dean remember when_ s, not even a  _Dean for fuck sake close your mouth when you’re chewing – you’re disgusting_  in spite of Dean doing his damndest to remember to do all those little things that usually gets at least an eye roll out of his brother but there is nothing. The walls are up and Sam has locked himself inside.

At first Dean thought it was because Sam was in pain, then he thought that maybe Sam was embarrassed about the guy on guy thing but it doesn’t add up. When Sam feels guilty or ashamed he holds his head down and does that annoying thing where he hides half his face in his hair. His eyes also get slightly bigger… or rounder. Dean isn’t sure which it is, maybe it’s both, but Sam isn’t making that face, he makes a much scarier face. Sam looks guarded and a little sad. His eyes flicker like they do whenever he’s trying to reach a decision. Sam is thinking and he is thinking about things he doesn’t want Dean to know about which just makes Dean want to know even more, because when Sam looks like this it usually means that  a not good, very bad thing is about to happen. It’s the face he wore in the months leading up to him leaving for Stanford and in the weeks before he took that dive into the cage. Sam is letting go and it scares the living hell out of Dean.

And then there are the nightmares. Or maybe they are not nightmares; Dean’s not sure what they are. When Sam has a nightmare he wails his arms like he’s trying to fight something off and he screams for Dean. He doesn’t do that now. Now he curls up and even though he’s saying Dean’s name he isn’t screaming for help, he is whimpering it through clenched teeth like he’s in pain and Dean’s the reason for it, like he’s begging for Dean to stop. Dean can feel the heart in his chest breaking a little more every time, leaving sharp edges that cut into his flesh and make it hard to breathe. If that son of a bitch wasn’t dead already Dean would find him and put a bullet right between his eyes for whatever it is that he’s done to brother.

Dean doesn’t sleep much anymore nor does he eat as much as he should. He just can’t bring himself to it. He spends his days eyeing Sam from the corner of his eye while listening on the Denver news and the police radio, trying to see if the police are on Sam’s heels or not. Apparently they are just as incompetent when it gets to solving murders as they are catching fire starters because they are getting nowhere on either case. 

It’s Saturday night, three weeks after  _the Denver incident_  as Dean has come to call it in his mind and he is listening to Sam sleeping. He doesn’t really know why he does it but he’s made a habit out of sitting in the armchair just outside Sam’s room while his brother sleeps. Sam caught him doing it a few days ago and got so angry Dean escaped to the bar downtown. Dean didn’t get back until the early hours of the morning, drunk and smelling like pussy, but when he did it was only to sit down outside Sam’s room again.

It’s a little neurotic and a whole lot creepy, Dean’s aware of it but he just doesn’t seem able not to do it. Whatever’s happening to Sam it feels like Dean can’t even blink anymore out of fear of missing some clue, some indication as to what he’s supposed to do. Sam refuses to let him in so he can’t see any other way than to try and figure this out on his own.

  
***

He hears it when the drams start. He hears it in how Sam moves and in his strained, wheezing breaths and Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t know how much more of this he’ll be able to take. The sound of broken glass echoes through the bunker and Dean jerks out of the chair with his hand on his gun, wide awake and every bit the soldier his father wanted him to be. Sam is screaming. “Shut up. Shut up. Shut up…” He’s sitting up and he’s got his hands over his ears and he keeps repeating the words over and over as Dean tries to navigate around the shards of the broken lamp on the floor in his bare feet. Dean grabs Sam’s shoulders and shakes him to try and wake him up but in the dark he fails to see the swing that Sam’s aiming. The fist comes out of nowhere, hits Dean straight across the mouth and sends him stumbling backwards until his back hits the wall.

“Sam! What the hell!” He shouts and holds his hand to his lip. “What the fuck man?”

“Dean?” Sam’s voice is quiet and a little raspy.

“Yeah genius, who else would it be? Damn I think you knocked a tooth loose.”

“M’sorry.”

And that’s it. Dean’s had enough of this insanity. The adrenalin is pumping through him, increasing with every beat of his heart.  He slams his hand over the light switch on the wall and floods the room in light.

“Start talking Sam.” he says using his best authoritarian voice. “I am not leaving this room until you start talking, and neither are you.”

He folds his arms across his chest and stares Sam down where he’s sitting with the sheets tangled around his legs.

The color in Sam’s face drains away and his eyes burn with something dangerously close to fear.

“No, Dean, please…” he begs.

“No. Not this time. You are going to tell me what the hell happened outside that club and you are going to do it right now. Enough with the stalling.”

Dean fights to keep a hold of his anger but it’s hard to do as he watches the light in Sam’s eyes flicker and die and Sam’s face goes blank. Sam looks down at where his hands are holding the blanket in a death grip and he nods a little to himself. Dean sees the fight leave Sam’s body, it’s like he’s sinking in on himself. A quiet implosion.

“Okay.” he whispers as he pulls his knees up to his chest, creating a barrier between him and Dean who’s now standing at the foot of Sam’s bed.

“I only remember bits and pieces of it but… I remember that guy. He came over right after you left with that girl. I was angry Dean, you have to understand I was so angry, I didn’t think.”

“What? With me?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

Sam looks up at Dean then, fear creeping back into his eyes and he just shakes his head.

“Anyway,” Sam continues “I figured since you’d hooked up with someone I might as well do it too you know, and the guy was really attractive…”

“Not anymore he isn’t.” Dean helpfully adds which grants him the first glare from Sam in weeks. Dean counts it as a win.

“So, we started talking and… I don’t know but I guess he wanted to, you know… go all the way? And I didn’t, I just wanted… other stuff.”

“God you’re such a prude Sam. He wanted to fuck you and you just wanted a blow job or a hand job or something, right? Just use the big boy words Sam.”

Sam blushes at that and actually smiles a little. Dean counts that as a second win.

“You’re really okay with this?” Sam asks. “With the guy thing I mean?”

“Of course I am,” Dean answers with a smile “sex is sex and it’s all awesome.”

Sam seems to relax a little at that but there is still tension in his face and in the way he holds himself so Dean figures there is more to come. The gay thing wasn’t the big revelation here that much is clear and Dean is going to get the whole truth out of his brother this time even if it’s going to take all damn night. Sam isn’t the only one who can be stubborn.

Sam takes a sip of water from the glass by his bed before he continues, obviously trying to buy himself some time.

“The guy seemed fine with it but then I started to feel a little dizzy. It wasn’t a nice buzz at all, I felt like I was gonna be sick so the guy offered to help me outside so I could get some air.”

Dean raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I know… I know. I should have known better.”

“Damn right you should have.”

“I don’t remember much after that. I remember being on the ground. I remember him trying to get my pants off. I remember I tried to push him away and then he said some things and I remember the fury. I remember grabbing a rock from the ground and hitting him with it then it all goes black again until you found me. I guess I must have hit him more than once huh?”

“You think?! The guy didn’t have a face when I found him. So… what did he say?”

“What?” Sam picks at his nails.

“What did he say that made you so pissed off?”

“Dean… I… Can we just leave it at that? I told you what happened. There’s really not much more to tell.”

“Obviously there is. Just spit it out Sam ‘cause I’m not letting you out of here until you do.”

Sam looks towards the door like he is calculating the probability of success should he try to run and Dean just slowly shakes his head. Sam sighs and shrugs.

“Okay.” He looks Dean dead in the eye, determination and fear equally present in the lines of his face and he takes a deep breath. “But you don’t want to know. Trust me. You really don’t.”

“I sure as hell do!”

“Fine! I was angry because you took off with that girl okay? I was furious because I’ve had to see you pick up girls right in front of my eyes my entire damn life without being able to do shit about it. We had our nights; that’s all I had. Those few nights where I could count on you not to fuck some bimbo in the bathroom, nights where I could get away with touching you without you making fun of me and then you go and pick some chick up. You fucking ruined everything so yeah, maybe I was trying to get back at you.”

“You were… I ruined… Sam, back up…” Dean is starting to get confused for real now. Nothing in what Sam is throwing at him makes any sort of graspable sense. Not to Dean and not at this hour.

“No! Just shut up Dean. You wanted the truth and you’re getting it so shut your fucking pie hole.” Sam shouts. “You wanna know what he said? He asked me if the reason for me not letting him fuck me was my cheating boyfriend and when I told him you were my brother he laughed in my face. He said he could see the way I was looking at you and called me an incestuous piece of shit. He thanked God he didn’t manage to put his dick in me, said he’d probably have caught something. Then he said he was gonna go back to the club and tell you exactly what your little brother fantasized about while jerking off… so I hit him. I smashed his damn face in!” Sam is screaming now.

“Sam, I…”

“I said shut up! I don’t wanna hear it. I’ve had enough of this. I can’t take it anymore because it fucking hurts, do you get that? It fucking hurts like hell!”

Sam grabs the duffle under his bed and his clothes from the chair and storms out of the room.

“Sam, watch the glass. Wait!” Dean’s after him in a second “Where are you going?”

“Away!” Sam says as he pulls his jeans on “I can’t be here right now. I need to…”

Dean grabs his arm and spins him around. “Will you stand still for a second and listen to me?!”

Sam looks at him, his eyes scanning every inch of Dean’s face. “What could you possibly say to make this okay?” Sam sounds completely wrecked and Dean is stunned by how much alike they are sometimes. Then Sam reaches his hand up slowly with trembling fingers to touch the cut on Dean’s lip. Dean sees the motion, he watches in horror because he knows that this is not going to end anywhere good so turns his head away with only a fraction of a second to spare.

“Yeah… that’s what I thought.” Sam says and drops his hand to his side. Dean realizes he doesn’t know what to say. There is too much information that he can’t even begin to process right now so he just stands there, watching as Sam puts the rest of his clothes on, grabs his bag and walks up the stairs to the door.

“Sam…” Dean starts, one hand stretched out in front of him like he wants to grab Sam by his shirt and drag him back.

“M’sorry.” Sam says over his shoulder without meeting Dean’s gaze and then he’s gone. The sound of the heavy metal door slamming shut makes Dean flinch.

Dean is still standing there with his arm out stretched in front of him, still looking for the right words but what is there really to say?  _I’m sorry?_ _Don’t leave me? I can’t function without you?_ What the hell do you say to your baby brother who basically just told you he wants you in all the wrong ways and that you unknowingly have been breaking his heart over and over for years?  _I love you?_

Dean lets his hand drop and slowly walks back to Sam’s room. He must be crying because he can taste the salt on his lips but he doesn’t really care. He curls up on Sam’s bed and pulls the blanket over his head. Dean tells himself that he did the right thing here, that Sam is out of his mind and that Dean needs to be the one making sure things don’t get out of hand. But he can’t quite make himself believe it. What he knows for sure is that being in love with your brother is not okay. Dean has known this all along and Sam will eventually come to his senses and see that too. Dean just has to wait. It sounds so reasonable that it has to be true. He would have been able to convince himself if not an almost equal part of his mind was screaming at him to run after his brother, to wrap his arms around him and never ever let him go. There is a third voice too, whispering behind the first ones, a voice dripping with contempt.  _‘This is your fault you know?’_ it hisses,  _‘You let him touch you and now look what’s become of it. And you’d let him again wouldn’t you, you selfish bastard. You’re a pathetic excuse for a brother and a pathetic excuse for a man.’_

Dean puts his hands over his ears to try and silence the war in his head but it doesn’t do any good. His palms are sweating and his lungs feel too small. He smashes his fist into the mattress and sobs. How the hell did things get so fucked up so fast?

“What the fuck am I supposed to do?” He’s screaming at the ceiling but he isn’t sure why. Maybe he’s asking Cas, maybe he’s asking God but neither would have a satisfying answer, simply because there is none so it’s utterly pointless. He wants so badly to run after Sam, to just catch him and kiss every last ounce of self-loathing out of his body and whisper  _it was always you, no one else, just you_  until Sam believes him but he can’t do that. He’s been pushing that part of himself down for years. He’s buried it under layers and layers of pussy, booze and food. He’s been trying to claw the thoughts out of his mind until it felt like his brain was bleeding. He’s been trying too hard for too long to keep his feelings under control and now he doesn’t seem to know how to reverse what he’s done. It’s all locked inside in a bottomless pit of shame and Dean’s lost the key.  
  


***

When Dean wakes up a few hours later and checks his phone the time says 11am. No message from Sam. He sweeps up the glass that is scattered across the floor in Sam’s room and pads out to the library. Somehow it feels colder in here now without Sam. It’s almost like he expects there to be frost on the glass doors of the old cabinet. He pours himself a Whiskey because it’s just that kind of morning and sits down at the table. He turns on the radio, more because the silence is getting on his nerves than for any other reason. The pyromaniac seems to be headed east and Dean thinks that maybe he’s going to have to catch that son of a bitch his own damn self after all. There is nothing new on Sam’s case. There hasn’t been for a while now so Dean changes the channel to one with less news and more rock n’ roll. Funny, how it doesn’t seem to improve his mood at all.

By dinner time he hasn’t moved except for the occasional bathroom break. He’s called Sam twice and been sent straight to voice mail both times. “Hey. It’s me. Call me.” was all he could think of to say but Sam hasn’t called back.

He takes a shower. The water almost too hot and he lets it wash over him with full pressure. He thinks about Sam. He hasn’t been able to think about anything else since he woke up. How Sam had reached out and Dean had backed away. What if he hadn’t? What if he had let Sam trail his fingers across his lips without interruption? What if he had opened his mouth and caught Sam’s finger between his teeth, licking the tip of it with slow strokes of his tongue. What would Sam have done? The thought is so wrong and so perverted and it makes Dean feel sick to his stomach the way his dick is filling up with blood at the thought, hanging heavy between his thighs like the worst kind of traitor. Dean grabs it and yanks. He fucks his own hand so rough and hard that it’s borderline painful. He’s not sure if he’s trying to jerk off or if it’s some sort of deranged self-punishment. He tries to think about Apple-Cheeks back at the club and the latest lesbian porno he saw but in the end it’s Sam’s lips he sees, pink and tight around his shaft when he comes. Dean doesn’t shave after like he normally would, he can’t stand to look at himself in the mirror.

Sam doesn’t come home the next day, or the day after that. A week has gone by when Dean gets a text message from him  _‘I’m okay. Don’t worry.’_  it says and Dean sends the phone flying into the wall. “I’m glad you’re fucking okay!” he screams, the sound echoing off the walls. He’s so angry. Damn Sam and his habit of running away. Just damn him. Dean kicks a chair across the room, turning it into not much more than splinters. He’s drinking too much, he knows he is and he really shouldn’t because it makes him almost paralyzed. He stops solving problems and turns into this self-loathing recluse that’s not even able to decide on what to have for dinner. He knows he’s not getting anywhere like this but the pain comes back carrying the shame with it every time the mist starts to clear so he drinks another Whiskey, another beer, another of what the hell that ancient thing was that the Men of Letters kept in the cupboard.

Somehow this is thing with Sam is all his fault. He’s sure of it. Somehow this fucked up thing that’s been clawing at him since that night in the ditch must have seeped out through the cracks in Dean’s protective walls and twisted Sam into thinking that this is what he wants. He’s infected Sam. Maybe Sam is right. Maybe he should stay as far away from Dean as he possibly can because Dean’s sins are apparently contagious

He’s got all of the photos of Sam he owns out on the table, laid out like a big puzzle. He doesn’t have that many but there are the couple that he keeps in his wallet, there are the few at the back of Dad’s journal and the ones in the box in the trunk of the Impala. In most of the pictures Sam is much younger, in some he’s just a baby. He moves them around, trying to put them in a chronological order but he’s not sure about a lot of them so he keeps moving everything around only to put them back the way they were the next day. It’s like he’s trying to find a hidden meaning, a message telling him what to do, a hint about where he went wrong but he doesn’t find one. There’s just Sam smiling at the camera. Sam sitting on Dean’s lap. Sam holding on to Dean’s belt loop with his chubby little fingers as he watches a plane take off.  Sam sleeping with his head on Dean’s shoulder and his hand wrapped around Dean’s thumb in the back of the car. Sam looking at Dean. Sam smiling at Dean. Sam picking flowers by the side of the road, flowers he later gave to Dean, a fist full of weeds pulled up by the roots that Dean made Dad put in a glass of water in the motel window.

 

 

He has moments of clarity where he tells himself to get a fucking grip, that he’s being pathetic and that Sam is not actually dead. The thing is that it feels like he is. Sam can’t be around him anymore because Dean is the worst that ever happened to him. Dean infected him and then broke his heart and now Dean’s alone and he hates it. He never managed to figure out who he is without Sam next to him.  _There is no Dean Winchester without a Sam. Without Sam he’s just a shadow, a black hole that devours everything good and pure around him. Without Sam he’s nothing._

Every day he picks up the phone with the intention of calling him, telling Sam that he can have whatever he wants, that Dean will never touch another girl, that Dean wants him and loves him and that there is nothing he wouldn’t do if only Sam came back home and every day he puts the phone back down without calling, shame boiling in his gut. He’s not sure what would feel worse; That Sam has changed his mind and doesn’t want him anymore… or that he hasn’t.

He finally ends up calling Charlie instead. He’s not sure why. Maybe it’s because he’s drunk, maybe there aren’t that many people left that he could call or maybe there’s a part of him that thinks that maybe, just maybe she’ll understand.

“Dean! Hi! Wassup?” She answers in her usual perky tone.

“I don’t know really… Do you have a minute?”

“Sure. Something wrong? You don’t sound too hot dude.”

“Yeah? Well I don’t feel too hot. Hey Charlie, could I ask you a personal… kind of hypothetical question?”

“Sure hon.”

“Have you ever had feelings for someone you absolutely shouldn’t have feelings for?”

“Well there’s Milla Jovovich if that’s what you mean?”

“No I mean… She’s just out of your reach not… you know…  _wrong_. I’m talking about having feelings for someone who’s within your reach but maybe shouldn’t be. Someone that’s wrong. Dammit, I don’t know what I’m trying to say here. I’m sorry. This isn’t making any sense.”

“Hey wait a minute. This isn’t really hypothetical, is it? Is this about you and Sam?”

“What?!” Dean squeaks and almost drops the phone.

“You heard me. So… is it?”

Dean stares at the phone for a few seconds not really sure what to do now but he figures there isn’t that much to lose anymore. He’s already lost everything that means anything anyway. He might just as well go the whole nine yards here.

“Yeah.” It’s barely more than a whisper. “How’d you know?”

“I’m neither stupid nor am I blind, that’s how. It’s obvious that you two are dying to get into each other’s pants dude. I mean seriously, the sexual tension is epic.”

Dean’s blushing and even if Charlie can’t see him it still feels like she’s staring straight into his soul so he hides his face in his hand.

“So, what happened?” Charlie sounds much more matter of fact than anyone has any right to given the subject at hand.

“Sam told me he has some sort of feelings for me… then he left. I think he was scared of being rejected or something. He just took off. Said, he couldn’t take it anymore.”

“Do you reject him?”

“No! I mean… yes. I didn’t really try to stop him. I’m not sure I should have but he’s not coming back. He’s my brother Charlie!”

“But you want him too right?”

“Well yes but that’s beside the point. As I said he’s my brother. What the hell am I supposed to do here?”

“What do you mean what are you supposed to do? Haven’t you ever seen a rom-com? Go get him you moron! Make a huge gesture, you know… Do a Johnny Castle… You have seen Dirty Dancing haven’t you? ”

“Charlie, please… I’m serious.”

“So am I! Look man, I know he’s your brother and all but seriously, sleeping with your brother would hardly be the worst thing you’ve ever done would it? Will you stop being so uptight when it comes to Sam. He’s a grown ass man who apparently knows what he wants. Just go after him Dean. Be happy. Make him happy. Isn’t that what you always wanted?”

Dean can’t really argue with that logic even though every cell in him wants to. He thanks Charlie and tells her that he’s going to think about it and hangs up just in time to hear her exasperated “Dean, for fuck sakes…”

By midnight Dean is still shuffling around in his bare feet. He is kind of wondering where his shoot first ask questions later mentality has gone but he never works quite the same when it comes to Sam as he does in all other things. Sam comes with his own set of rules. Always has and always will. Dean’s waiting. He’s waiting for Sam to walk through those doors, for him to saunter in like he’s just been on a grocery run, waiting for everything to go back to the way things are supposed to be and for the universe to stop spinning out of control around him. He’s pretending. He’s pretending because the alternative is too frightening to linger on for any length of time.

He turns the TV on and pours himself another Whiskey.  He falls into a shallow sleep to a rerun of The Dukes of Hazzard.


	5. ...And fire in the sky

When he wakes up there’s a documentary of America’s ghost towns on. He’s just about to turn it off and go to bed because he doesn’t have the patience for anything ghost related at the moment when he hears it. A trained narrator voice;  _…and with just a handful of households left, Last Chance is definitely on its last chance._  
Dean’s finger hover over the remote as the camera pans from the man talking, over to the same sign Dean passed on the drive back from Denver.  
  
 _‘Last Chance. Last chance… Sam!’_  
  
Dean grabs the phonebook and finds the motel listed as second last. He might be engaging in some serious wishful thinking here but maybe Sam is waiting for him and is staying somewhere where Dean will be able to find him should he really want to. He calls up and asks for Mr. Scholz and when the clerk says _”That would be room 405. Do you want me to connect you?”_ he hangs up.  
  
Sam’s still in town.   
  
Doing what he does Dean has learned one very important thing; there are never really any coincidences when it comes to his life and something that feels like a sign usually is. He’s not sure what the last chance is for but whatever it is it must be important. You never get a last chance warning unless it is.  
  
Within minutes he is dressed and in his car. The motel is just a couple of miles away and Dean is speeding along the narrow dirt road leading from the bunker, his heart in his throat and a firm grip on the wheel because the moment he set foot outside the smell of smoke was hanging thick in the air.  
  
As he turns out on the main road he can clearly see the motel sign just up ahead and when he reaches the red light by the gas station the entire motel bursts into flames. Red, orange and yellow colors everything around him and a pillar of black smoke swallows the pale crescent moon above. Dean slams his foot down on the gas and blows through the red light. “C’mon baby.” he mumbles through clenched teeth as he barely avoids slamming into the side of a truck at the next intersection. He’s out of the car before the gravel the tires sent flying as he skidded into the motel parking lot hits the ground.  
  
“SAM!” He screams over the roaring fire.  
  
There are people with soot on their faces holding onto each other over by the trees but Sam’s not among them.  
  
“405. 405. 405.” Dean repeats to himself as he runs for the stairs at the short end of the building.  
  
Clearly the people huddling together by the tree line must have come from the first floor because there’s no way anyone could have gotten down the stairs. The entire staircase is engulfed in flames and Dean can hear people screaming from the top floors. Then he sees him. Sam is out on the balcony, bending over the rails as he’s lowering a kid to the ground with a homemade rope made of what looks like it could be Sam’s clothes tied around the kid’s chest.   
  
“SAM!” Dean shouts again but Sam can’t hear him over the screams and the roar of the fire so he takes a deep breath, pulls his leather jacket over his head and he runs up the stairs. It’s hot. It’s too hot. The soles of his boots are melting by the second floor, making it difficult to run and his clothes are catching fire but he’s been through hell. This is nothing. He can do this.  
  
He barely makes it to the top before part of the stairs crackle and crumble to the ground behind him, taking the lower parts of the stairs with it. He tears his burning shirt off and kicks his shoes into the flames behind him. He’s hurt, his skin is cracked open and blistering but there’s no time to worry about that now. Sam’s trapped by the flames and there’s no one here to lower his gigantic ass to the ground except Dean. He runs up to his brother and yanks the now free rope out of his hands.  
  
“Dean! Wha…”  
  
“No time Sam.” Dean says and ties the poor excuse for a rope around his brothers waist.  
  
“No Dean!”  
  
“Shut up and go!” Dean pushes Sam through the railing and over the edge and grabs on to the burning beam still holding up the roof but it’s just a question of maybe minutes if Dean’s lucky. It burns through the palms of his hands but he doesn’t let go until he can’t feel the pull of the rope anymore. Sam’s on the ground. Dean peeks over the edge and sees him standing down there; he looks so small that far down but Dean can still see the fear written across his face. The flames are starting to lick Dean’s back and he has nowhere to go but down on the concrete ground below. The fall will probably kill him but the fire most certainly will so there really isn’t that much of a choice.  
  
He catches Sam’s eyes for a second and he smiles. Dean tries to put everything he’s feeling into that one smile since he will never get a chance to say it. _I’m sorry, I love you. It was always you, no one else, just you_.  
  
And then he jumps. 

 

 

He can hear Sam’s voice. It’s distant and a little monotone like he’s reading but Dean can’t make out the words so he can’t be sure. Maybe he’s on the phone. It feels good though, listening to Sam. It feels safe. He tries to say his name but it’s like he’s forgotten how to. There’s no sound from his lips at all and Dean’s not sure they are even moving. There is an annoying beeping sound in the distance and then there’s another voice, a girl is talking and then Sam’s talking again and then it all fades.

***

There are wheels squeaking and people running. Footsteps rapidly slapping against a hard surface. There’s so much noise and everything hurts. Dean just wants to sleep. When silence and oblivion come it’s a blessing.

  
***

  
There’s a hand on his face. The soft touch, the pattern drawn with a finger across his cheek is familiar and it makes Dean all warm.  _‘Mom’_ he thinks and he tries to say it out loud but he’s too tired. Maybe mom will take him to the park when he wakes up.

***

He can feel the wind on his face. Everything smells clean and a little like rain. Dean thinks it’s a good thing it’s raining. It will put out the fire.  _Take your brother outside as fast as you can - don't look back. Now, Dean! Go!_  Sam’s safe. That’s all that matters. He dreams of shattering glass, windows blown out by heat, shards raining down from a sky filled with smoke.

  
***

  
The light that filters through his eyelids is harsh and unforgiving so he turns his head away from it. There’s the faint sound of someone breathing close by and his body aches and itches. He tries to open his eyes to see where he is but it’s all just a blur, electric blue dots dancing on a milky white background. But then there’s something, a dark line across his field of vision, then another one. It’s a door, framed in white wood in the middle of a pale blue wall.

He carefully turns his head to the other side. There’s a window half opened, white curtains blowing in the breeze and catching the yellow light of the sun. There’s a clock on the wall with sharp black arms telling him it’s just after one. And there’s Sam. He’s in an armchair, folded over with his head resting on the bed right next to Dean’s hip and he’s sleeping. He’s got his hand on Dean’s chest and his hair is shorter, it looks almost like it did the night he left for Stanford. Dean wants to touch it but when he reaches out he finds that both of his hands are covered. In fact his entire arms are covered in white, thick bandages. At first he’s surprised and a whole lot annoyed but then it starts to come back to him. There was a fire and he jumped. He shouldn’t have survived that but yet here he is. He looks back at Sam. Sam’s face is bruised but the bruises are paling into a faded green and there are crutches leaning against the side of the chair.

“Sam?” He croaks out. His mouth is dry and it’s hard to speak. He nudges Sam’s head with his lump of a hand. “Sam!”

Sam stirs a little then and slowly opens his eyes.

“Hey,” He smiles “you’re awake.”

“Yeah…” Dean rasps “Looks like.”

Sam reaches for a glass of water with a straw in it and holds it out so Dean can reach the straw with his lips.

“They said you might need this when you wake up.” he says with an apologetic smile.

Dean glares at him over the annoyingly purple straw but takes it anyway; he’s too thirsty to defend his independence and manliness right now but God knows he’s going to have to compensate for this later. The water is cold and tastes like heaven, easing the burn in his throat so it might have been worth it, straw and all.

“How long have I’ve been out?” Dean asks once the glass is empty and out of the way.

“Exactly two weeks.” Sam says and when Dean’s eyes widen at that he continues “You were badly burnt and you broke a lot of bones in the fall so they have kept you sedated for the pain. You’re still on pretty heavy painkillers but it’s all healing as it should and you’re going to be fine.” Sam straightens the blanket that is draped across Dean’s legs.

“How the hell did I survive?” Sam gets this guilty look on his face then. He doesn’t have his hair to hide behind anymore so Dean can see it clearly. “And what the hell happened to your hair?”

“It got burnt off.” Sam answers with a shrug. “Why? Don’t you like it?”

“Oh I love it.” Dean says with a smirk. “Should have gotten a haircut years ago.”

“Fuck you.” is all Sam says but there’s no heat behind it at all.

“So tell me, what did you do?”

“What?”

“How did I survive the jump? What did you do Sam? I swear, if you made another deal I will fucking strangle you!”

“No, no, nothing like that. I just… I caught you.” Sam smiles this weird smile. Half pride, half expecting a punch in the face.

“You… You  _caught_  me?”

“Yeah, I saw you jump so I caught you.”

“Jesus fucking Christ Sam, are you insane? You could have died! Are you okay?”

“I am now.” Sam says and motions to the crutches. “Broke my leg in two places, my collarbone, a few ribs and got a concussion but it’s all better now.” 

Dean draws a breath ready to tear Sam a new one when he’s interrupted by a soft but cheerful voice.

“Good morning Mr. Peverett. How nice to see you with your eyes open.” The nurse sashays into the room with a folder in her hand and a bright smile on her face, oblivious to the tension lingering in the room. “And they are a beautiful pair too.” she adds with a wink. 

Dean looks at her, then at Sam who just shrugs, and then back at her again, Sonia the nametag says. Sonia who is apparently shamelessly flirting with patients. Dean’s not sure if he should be annoyed or flattered. She is short and skinny, long black hair put together in a messy bun and she’s pretty in that girl next door kinda way and in an earlier life Dean would totally have her in the bathroom before the week was over. Now however… He looks at Sam again. No, there will be no banging nurses on this hospital visit.

“How are you feeling?” She asks with a concerned face.

“Okay, I guess. A little itchy and kinda fuzzy in the head.”

“The itching is good, it means that the burns are healing but I’ll see if I can have the doctor give you something for that. And the fuzziness is the medication. We’re giving you morphine through that IV there.” She points at the needle that is taped to Dean’s arm before turning to Sam.

“And how are you doing today? Did you get any sleep?”

Sam nods and smiles.

“Good. I was afraid we would have to sedate you too.”

She checks the machines next to Dean’s bed and writes something in the folder she’s holding. “Lemme tell you Mr.Peverett,” she says and points to Dean with her pen “your boyfriend here is a keeper. He’s been sitting here day and night. I think he probably read you every magazine we have on this ward cover to cover. We couldn’t get him to leave your side. All the nurses are gossiping about you two. They want to know how you catch a man like that.” She looks up from her notes and directs a blinding, bright smile at Dean.

“Just put some books and a laptop in a hole and wait for him to fall in.” Dean answers, with what he hopes can pass for a smile.

“You’re a lucky man.” she laughs and turns back to her notes.

Dean lets his smile drop and fixes his eyes on Sam who actually has the sense to look guilty but Dean could swear there’s a hint of smugness in there somewhere. He raises an eyebrow in question as nurse Sonia leaves the room.

“I didn’t do anything.” Sam says as he flips through a magazine. “They just assumed and I didn’t correct them. I mean what's the point right? It's as good of a cover as anything else.”

Dean’s convinced Sam’s hiding a smile behind those glossy pages; it’s in his voice clear as a bell. This whole thing is reeking of trouble.

The doctor comes in a moment later. She’s about the same age as nurse Sonia but she is much less chatty. She’s efficient and professional, almost to the point of coming across as cold but that suits Dean just fine. She gives him something to help with the itching and increases his morphine a little and leaves shortly thereafter with a polite nod.

Dean can feel the effects of the drugs right away. It’s a pleasant buzz, it relaxes him and calms all the thoughts down to no more than a distant hum at the back of his mind. He spends a little while talking to Sam about the fire. Fifteen people died that night and that damn pyromaniac was one of them, caught in his own burning inferno. It’s kind of poetic in a macabre sort of way Dean thinks.

“But just so we’re clear Sam, that’s the last time I pull your ass out of a fire. Enough’s enough dammit.” Dean slurs, just before he slips into a morphine- induced sleep.

He never feels the light touch of fingertips against his cheek or hears the whispered “Thank you.”

Dean sleeps a lot, he tries to eat as much as he can and he has physiotherapy once a day and Sam never leaves for longer than it takes to have a shower or get a coffee. They have put an extra cot out for Sam but almost every morning when Dean wakes up Sam’s in the armchair pulled up right next to Dean’s bed.

“Don’t you have something to do?” Dean grumbles into his cup of coffee. “You know, places to be?”

“Nope.” Sam answers with a smirk and keeps playing Sudoku on his phone. Dean turns his back to him and watches the people who pass the open doorway. 

There’s a thunderstorm coming. The wind tears in the trees outside and the clouds hang dark blue and heavy over them. There’s a rumbling far off to the south but it’s getting closer.  _‘One Mississippi, two Mississippi…‘_  The air is thick and warm and the sheets stick to Dean’s body. He’s been here for almost a week now, not counting the two he was sedated, and he’s starting to feel a little claustrophobic. The truth is that he’s glad Sam is here even if there are secrets spilled that now hover like shadows in the corners of the room whenever Sam’s near. Without the company, lying here would have been a nightmare.

“Why did you come for me?” Sam says then. “I mean, back at the motel. Why were you there?”

“I had a hunch.”

“A hunch? What kind of a hunch?”

“Not sure exactly. I just knew I had to get to you or I might not get another chance.”

“Another chance to do what?”

“Not sure about that either.”

“Huh.” Sam says and the room goes quiet except for the rain that has started to hit the window in earnest.

“So why did  _you_  do it?” Dean asks into the silence. “Why did you catch me?”

The tapping on Sam’s phone stops and Sam shifts in his seat.

“How could I not?” Sam says, voice soft like cotton and warm as a blanket. 

Dean turns back around to look at his brother. There’s a blush creeping up Sam’s neck and it colors his cheeks as he looks down. Dean doesn’t push beyond that. He knows what Sam means, Dean would have done the same thing so he just reaches out and touches his brother’s shoulder with his bandaged hand and is rewarded with a smile.

“Awww.” They hear from the doorway where Sonia is peaking in. “You two are just adorable. I’m gonna close this so you can have some privacy.” She says and winks through the tiny gap just before the door closes.

She does that a lot Dean’s come to realize. Winking that is. It’s annoying in a sort of adorable way and Dean can’t really bring himself to be bothered. They are keeping up the boyfriend charade because at this point there’s not much of a choice but it makes Dean’s lines blurry and his heart ache. Sam is touching him a lot more than he usually is and Dean is not far behind. He’s starting to find it hard to separate the game from reality. He’s not sure anymore what is part of the cover and what is truly them. It’s nerve wracking. The tiny smiles, the lingering touches, the looks Sam gives him that are so full of love that Dean has to look away so he doesn’t get caught breathless. It all comes so easily and Dean is quietly freaking out.

A couple of days later Dean gets help removing his bandages by a pair of  nurses under the watchful eye of the doctor who’s warmed up a little but is still not what you would call a ray of sunshine. Dean’s hands and arms are scarred and tender, pink skin so thin it’s almost translucent that stretches and stings when he moves his fingers. Thankfully his right hand is in better condition than his left and the doctor says that even if he might end up a little more sensitive, his hands will get back to almost normal. He’s got scarring down his legs, across his lower back and stomach, basically every place that wasn't covered by his leather jacket. His face is unscarred and is starting to look like it should now that his lashes and eyebrows are growing back.

“It’s all healing very well. You are getting discharged tomorrow Mr. Peverett.” The doctor says while she pushes her glasses up her nose. “I want to see you back here twice a week for physiotherapy. I will also prescribe you some ointment for your scars and a couple of different pills I want you take twice a day. You can pick it up at the pharmacy at the entrance once you are signed out.” 

“Awesome.” Dean grins.

She reaches out and takes Dean’s hand in a careful handshake. “Take care of yourself now and good luck.” She says and leaves the room with the two nurses right behind her.


	6. Can't stop loving you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m so twisted and tied  
> And all I remember  
> Was how hard we tried  
> Only to surrender.  
> -Van Halen

Dean doesn’t get to drive his car back home once he’s released from the hospital which quite frankly sucks ass. Sam says he needs both his hands in working condition to be able to drive safely which according to Dean is bullshit and he tells Sam as much, repeatedly, but Sam has always been stubborn as a mule and Dean spends the ride back home moping in the passenger seat.  
  
He watches as trees and houses rush by the window and wonders in a detached sort of way what will happen now. Even though it’s been obvious how Sam feels these last few weeks nothing more has been said on the subject, which is most likely Dean’s fault. He’s been actively trying to stay clear of that conversation and Sam probably picked up on it. The truth is it’s been confusing enough to Dean to have to pretend to pretend to have feelings that he normally pretends he doesn't have. It’s all giving him a headache but he hasn't missed how Sam’s gotten increasingly quieter as the days go by. He knows he’s been breaking Sam’s heart all over again and he doesn't seem to know how to stop.

***

  
  
“What the hell happened here?”   
  
Sam eyes the mess that Dean left behind when he took off. There are bottles everywhere, papers and photographs scattered across every available surface in close proximity to the couch. Clothes and piles of dirty dishes are littering the floor.   
  
“Seriously Dean, what the fuck?”   
  
Dean rubs the back of his neck and sends a sheepish smile Sam’s way.  
  
“Dunno man. I just… everything just kinda fell apart there for a while you know.”  
  
Sam looks at Dean. A question lingering at the back of his eyes but he doesn't say anything. Instead he sighs and lets his gaze wander over the room again until it gets stuck on something. Dean looks over to see what has caught Sam’s attention and he can feel his cheeks heating up when he sees the photographs of Sam laid out in their weird pattern on the table. Sam walks over staring down at the bizarre collection of images.  
  
“Dean? This is… really fucking strange man. What the hell have you been doing?  
  
“I said I didn’t know.” Dean spits out as he strides over and quickly gathers all the pictures up and stuffs them under a book.   
  
“But…”  
  
“Leave it, Sam!”  
  
They spend the rest of the day cleaning up. Sam tries really hard to keep the mood light. He babbles on about nothing in particular. He talks about nurse Sonia and her dog that she sometimes brings to work. He talks about a book auction he’s read about online that he wants to go to and some weird fish documentary he saw a few years back. Sam talks about everything else except about the beer bottles he’s gathering and the empty pill bottles he finds stuck between the pillows on the couch. Dean smiles and does his best to seem interested and participate in the conversation. It’s the least he can do given the enormous amount of slack that Sam is cutting him at the moment.  
  
Once the room is back to its former glory Dean decides that Sam deserves a good home cooked meal since he had to do most of the cleaning and makes him lasagna while Sam’s in the shower. It’s a nice evening and Dean can almost pretend the last couple of months never happened. They eat in front of the TV, watching The Exorcism with a blanket thrown over their legs. The lingering awkwardness from their boyfriend charade at the hospital has eased up and even though Dean can feel it like a buzz around the edges it’s not as bad as it was a few hours ago.   
  
“I think that demon might be retarded or something.” Sam says and stares blankly at the TV. “That’s one awkward way of walking down the stairs. I mean what’s the point of doing it that way?”  
  
“The point is that it’s supposed to be scary.”  
  
“Yeah, I guess… But it’s not. It just looks stupid.” Sam says and shrugs. “Don’t we have some other movies? We’ve seen this one like twenty times and it has sucked every time.”  
  
Dean swats Sam head. “Shut up! It’s a classic and it’s awesome!”  
  
“Yeah, whatever old timer. But I get to pick the next one.”  
  
They finish the movie and settle on zapping between channels while they finish the popcorn. Dean feels all warm inside and it’s only partly because of the blanket. He’s got his brother back, safe and sound right next to him just as it should be. The awkwardness evaporated into thin air somewhere half way through the movie to the soundtrack of Sam’s complaining and for the first time in a long time life in general is pretty awesome.  
  
Then Sam tries to kiss him.  
  
Dean catches him staring and thinks for a moment that Sam is about to say something, that he is about to tell him something important but instead Sam leans in. It takes Dean a fraction of a second too long to catch on to what is happening. It isn't until Sam is so close Dean can feel his breath on his face that the penny drops and Dean panics. He places his palms on Sam’s chest and pushes. Apparently he pushes much harder than he intended to because Sam topples back and over the armrest and down on the floor.   
When Sam doesn't move, doesn't say anything Dean peaks over the edge and down at his brother.  
  
“I… I’m sorry man… I didn’t mean…”  
  
Sam gets up then but he keeps his eyes on the floor.  
  
“No, I’m sorry…” Sam talks like he’s not getting enough air, like someone is strangling him. “I thought… I…“ Sam starts to back away. “Never mind. I made a mistake.” Sam turns on his heels and takes off down the hall.  
  
“Sam, wait!” Dean starts to run after him but the door to Sam’s bedroom slams shut and Dean can hear the lock click into place and he’s left alone in the narrow corridor.  
  
“Please...”  
  
Dean just stands there for a moment, unsure of what to do. He doesn't seem able to make sense of anything. He doesn't seem to be able to do anything that doesn't result in Sam running away from him. There are too many voices inside his head, screaming insults, whispering temptations and the ever present  _‘Look out for Sammy’_ said in a voice that sounds just like his father’s _._ Dean turns away and heads for his room. No matter what he does he’s going to fuck Sam up. There is not a single acceptable offer on the table here so he might just lie down and do nothing.

  
***

  
  
Dean can hear Sam approaching with shuffled steps through the corridor but he doesn’t turn towards the door until he can see Sam’s shadow fall across the wall.  
  
“Dean, you have a minute?” Sam says and pulls at the hem of his t-shirt.  
  
It’s an old gray one that is slightly too small, hugging his chest and not quite reaching the top of his pajama pants. “I need to talk to you.”  
  
He’s lit from the front only by the soft yellow light from Dean’s bedside lamp and from the back by the strong light from the bunker behind him, creating a halo around his head. Dean scoots up in bed and leans against the headboard.  
  
“Sure. What’s up?” He asks even though he’s pretty sure what’s coming. It’s written all across Sam’s face.  
  
Sam seems to hesitate before he walks over and sits down at the foot of the bed.  
  
“First of all I’m sorry and second of all I just want you to know that… I've had some time to think about it and… I'm okay with this.” Sam makes a gesture indicating he’s talking about them. “I mean, I’m fine with  _just_  this, just knowing that you know how I feel. It makes me feel a little bit better. I don’t expect anything from you, okay?”  
  
“Okay, but Sam…”  
  
“Shhh, just let me finish.” Sam puts a hand on Dean’s leg to quiet him. “I also want to say that I’m so so sorry. I promised myself after what I did to you before that I would never burden you with this again but I fucked up. I misread the situation and I’m sorry for that and I’m sorry for what I did to you before. I just hope that you'll let me stay, I promise I will never try anything again, but I wouldn't hold it against you if you wanted me out of here.” Sam looks absolutely terrified.  
  
“What do you mean  _what you did to me_? You haven’t done anything to me.” Dean’s confused. He thought he knew where this conversation was going but now he’s lost. Sam keeps changing the rules on him and apparently he is too slow to keep up.  
  
“Yes I have. I’m not sure you remember but you carried me on your back once and I was drunk and I got carried away. I kissed your neck and you fell. I… Oh my god Dean, I will never understand why you didn't punch me in the face. Why you were just lying there and taking it but you did.”  
  
Sam is starting to tear up and Dean’s head is spinning. All those years and it never once occurred to him that if Sam knew anything about that night he might not know the whole embarrassing truth.  
  
“Sam...” He starts “it’s okay.”  
  
“No it’s fucking not. I molested my brother in a damn ditch. Don’t you tell me it’s okay! I don't wanna go but I will if you tell me to.” The tears are streaming freely down his face now and he’s holding on to the sheets like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.  
  
 _'Hell no! Sam is not leaving again. Never again!'_ Dean's mind shouts so loud it drowns out every other thought that might have been floating around in his head. Before he has time to ponder the consequences of what he's about to do Dean’s leaning forward and is grabbing Sam’s shoulders as hard as he can with his damaged hands and he shakes him.  
  
“Sam you idiot! You didn't molest me. I came in my pants! You hear me? I came in my fucking pants just listening to you. I can still hear it I my head. No matter how many women I’ve fucked, none of them, none has ever come close to making me fall apart the way you managed to do when you were fifteen so you stop this now ya’ hear me. Just stop it. If anyone’s leaving it should be me. You were underage, I fucking wasn’t. I should have known better and now look what’s become of it. I messed you up Sam, big time and I can't even trust myself not to do it again.”  
  
Sam’s just looking at him now. The tears have stopped but his breathing is still shaky and shallow.  
  
“So I didn’t make it up?” he says confused but totally focused on Dean.  
  
“Make what up?” Dean's still panting from the rush of adrenalin that knocked the previous words out of him.  
  
“The way you touched me… at the hospital and the look on your face, just before you jumped, I saw your face. These feelings… It’s  _not_  just me, is it?”  
  
And there it is. All the shadows torn from the corners and lit up by the light in Sam’s eyes. Dean is not sure where to look. He’s all of a sudden nervous in Sam’s presence and he feels naked. He contemplates denying everything but at this point that would just be cruel. He’s done breaking Sam’s heart, he just can't do it anymore so he just closes his eyes and whispers  
  
“No… It’s not just you.”   
  
He can feel the bed dip as Sam moves closer but he keeps his eyes closed. He feels too raw and if he looked at Sam right now he might just fall apart.   
  
“You don’t want this Sam. You think you do but you really don’t. You wanted normal and this… This is as far from that as you can come.” Dean’s voice is so thin it almost sounds fragile as it fills the empty air between them.  
  
“Not normal - safe. I wanted to feel safe and I have that now. Here, with you…”  
  
Dean can feel Sam’s breath on his face as Sam leans even closer.  
  
“Sam, no…” Dean whimpers. He knows where this is going. He can see the train wreck this has the potential to become and he tries to fight it but he doesn't have much fight left in him anymore. Sam is so close Dean can smell him and he’s hanging on by a thread. If Sam pushes now, he will fold.   
  
“Will you shove me away again?” Sam whispers.  
  
Dean shakes his head slowly but he keeps his eyes closed. The texture of the finger that touches his lips is rough but the touch is soft and this time Dean doesn't turn his head away, this time he parts his lips around it. He needs to know.  
  
“Oh fuck.” Sam gasps on a shaky breath and Dean smiles despite himself and all better judgment because it’s like the sound of rain to a man lost in the desert.  
  
“There it is.” he says around the finger in his mouth. “Never thought I’d hear that again.”  
  
When he opens his eyes Sam’s tears are still drying on his cheeks but he doesn't look sad anymore, he looks absolutely ruined. His mouth is open and his eyes are burning and all of a sudden Dean can't look away. He is not surprised when Sam leans in and kisses him but the way his heart stops and his nerves crackle like fireworks takes him completely off guard. Almost twenty years of shame and bad and wrong crumbles to the floor around him with just a kiss and he can't get enough, he can't even remember why he ever thought it was a good idea to not kiss Sam.   
  
He buries his hands in Sam’s hair and straddles his lap, never once breaking the kiss. Sam tastes like toothpaste and a little bit like tears and Dean angles his head so he can get deeper, get to where it tastes like pure Sam. He’s drowning and it’s the best feeling he’s ever felt. Sam’s got his arms around Dean’s waist and he’s holding him tight against his chest. Dean’s got his fingers splayed out across Sam’s back and Sam’s so pliant, so very pliant, melting like ice cream, sweet and sticky under Dean’s hands.  
  
Dean grabs Sam’s t-shirt, pulls it over his head and throws it to the floor. Sam’s eyes are closed and he’s panting, soft breaths that vibrate through his body and into Dean’s. Sam’s got his hand down Dean’s pants and his grip around Dean’s cock is firm and unhesitant, moving up and down in slow strokes that threaten what’s left of Dean’s sanity. All he can do is hold on and keep his lips on Sam’s, swallowing every one of those precious sounds that are spilling out of his mouth, unstoppable and without pause. Dean’s no longer in control, his body moves seemingly on its own, hands fumbling, nails carving valleys across his brothers back and he’s so far gone he feels like if Sam got up and left now Dean would never find his way back.   
  
Sam’s hips are moving, pressing up against Dean as his hand moves faster and Dean can't even kiss anymore. His mouth hangs open against his brother’s who doesn’t seem to be able to do any better. They’re just sharing breaths, wet lips sliding together as they move. Sam pulls away and Dean whimpers, in frustration but Sam moves with intent. When his teeth close over the side of Dean’s neck Dean comes undone. He falls apart in his brothers arms, hands fisted his Sam’s hair and he cries his release into his brother’s shoulder.

***

  
  
The room is quiet except for the sound of their breathing. Sam hasn't let go. He still got one hand wrapped around Dean’s softening cock and the other spread out across his back and Dean isn't sure he wants him to ever let go. He just wants to go to sleep right where he is, warm and safe and possibly never wake up.   
  
He feels Sam’s laugh more than he hears it.  
  
“Dude,” Sam shakes him a little “move. My legs are falling asleep and uh… I guess it was my turn to come in my pants… it’s pretty uncomfortable.”  
  
Dean smiles against Sam’s neck but he still doesn't move. He’s forgotten how to.  
  
“Can’t, you broke me.” he mumbles, tasting the sweat on Sam’s skin.  
  
Sam laughs again and grabs Dean around his chest and carefully lowers him to the bed. Dean can feel himself frowning as Sam untangles himself from Dean’s arms.  
  
“I'll be back.” he says in a slightly amused tone “I just need to get this cleaned up.”  
  
He sounds so happy, so young and Dean thinks  _‘Yeah, that’s it. That’s more like it. That’s what he should sound like.’_  
  
When Sam comes back in a clean pair of underwear and with a washcloth Dean has managed to open his eyes. He watches as Sam cleans him up with a reverence that makes Dean feel embarrassed and unworthy. Dean soaks in it and drinks every second of it through his skin.  
  
“Second thoughts?” Sam asks while he places the cloth on the floor.  
  
Dean shakes his head and smiles. “No. None.”  
  
He reaches out towards his brother. ”C’mere, Bitch.” he says and pulls Sam down next to him, tucking him in against his shoulder. He can feel the smile on Sam’s face against his chest and he falls asleep moments later with his fingers tangled in brother’s hair.

  
***

His dreams seem lighter. There are no monsters, no dark clouds hanging over his head ready to crack open and rain fire and brimstone, no sense of falling, of failing, no mud, no dirt, no blood. There’s just a road lit by a million stars and Sam is standing on the hood of the Impala trying to reach them.  
  
 _They’re too far away_ dream Sam says and laughs, all dimples and tongue caught between his teeth,  _I can’t reach them._  
  
Dean sees himself smiling up at his brother  _Of course you can’t reach them, get down from there_  his dream self says.  
  
Dream Sam jumps off the hood and comes so close that Dean can feel the heat radiating from his body.  
  
 _What were you thinking?_  Dream Dean continues.  
  
 _That you never know what you can do until you try_  Sam says and holds out his hand and right in the middle of his palm is a tiny glowing stone, not much bigger than a grain of sand.  
  
 _Make a wish_  dream Sam whispers with his lips hot against Dean’s ear and then he blows the star from his palm.

***

Sam is still asleep when Dean wakes up. He’s still tucked in close to Dean’s side with his head pillowed on Dean’s shoulder. Sam hasn't been getting much sleep lately so Dean doesn't dare to move, he doesn't want to wake him so he just looks. For the first time he feels like he has permission to do so, like he’s not doing something terribly wrong. There is still a lingering shame but it isn't more than an insistent but distant whisper.  
  
Sam is just dressed in his boxers and he has the sheets wrapped around his waist and hips, one leg uncovered and bent over Dean, holding him in place. Sam is breathtaking. Dean never really understood why he always seemed to get most of the attention when he’s never been able to hold a candle to his little brother. Sam is nothing less than a marble statue come to life and Dean has to fight the impulse to pinch him just to make sure he’s actually flesh and blood.   
  
Dean’s never been with a man before. It’s not that he hasn't been tempted because God knows he has. Big men with strong arms, jeans tight across swelling thighs and well-shaped asses have caught his attention on more than a few occasions but there has always been something unsettling about the thought of being naked and vulnerable with someone who can match your strength. He’s never trusted anyone that much. Until now. He looks down at Sam’s sleeping face and wonders how many men have been allowed to see Sam like this. There’s a sting of jealousy at the thought and all of a sudden he’s questioning his own ability in bed. What if he doesn't measure up? The thought feels foreign and new and utterly terrifying.   
  
“You’re thinking too loud.” Sam’s muffled voice breaks through the silence and shakes Dean out of his inner freak out.  
  
“Sorry.” Dean says “I didn't mean to wake you.”  
  
“S’alright.” Sam presses in even closer and nuzzles Dean’s neck “Got no problem waking up like this. Whatcha thinkin’ about anyway? Better not be freaking out.”  
  
“No.” Dean lies and runs his fingertips over Sam’s naked back “Nothing like that.”  
  
“Good.”   
  
Sam’s hand spreads wider on Dean’s chest and Dean hisses before he has time to stop himself as Sam’s fingers ghost over his nipple.  
  
“Oh yeah?” Dean can hear the smirk in Sam’s voice “You like that?” he says and does it again.  
  
Dean tries to play it cool, he really does but he fails miserably. His back arches slightly and totally without his consent. He presses his face into Sam’s hair to stop the gasp that is trying to escape his lips but has even less success with that.   
  
Sam chuckles to himself in this quiet, almost predatory way that has Dean’s insides tied up in knots and then he pulls Dean’s t-shirt up to under his armpits and latches on, lips soft against Dean’s chest as he sucks the nipple into his mouth. If Sam wasn't still holding Dean down with the weight of his leg Dean’s convinced he would jerk off the bed. Sam bites down and pulls, rubbing the flesh caught between his teeth with the tip of his tongue as his hand slides down Dean’s side, over his hip and up again. Dean has never bought the  _‘He came untouched’_  crap but now he thinks he’s starting to get it.  
  
Dean watches in stunned silence as Sam slowly lets his lips slide down his chest, kissing and biting just hard enough to leave Dean’s skin humming. When Sam’s lips reach the top of Dean’s boxers he grabs hold of them with both of his hands, pauses and looks up, eyes asking for permission and Dean just nods with jerky movements. A hundred thousand fantasies and none of them have ever come close to doing reality justice.  
  
The rosy cheeks, the messy hair and the kiss swollen lips are not such a big surprise. In fact it is just as Dean had seen this moment in his mind’s eye a thousand times before. What takes him off guard and punches all the air out his lungs is the look on Sam’s face. Dean always imagined Sam as a shy lover, blushing face and sideward glances from under heavy eyelids, but the man looking back at him in this moment is anything but shy. That simmering passion and anger that’s usually only noticeable as a faint whisper, hidden away in the deepest parts of Sam’s mind is now burning hot like a blaze in his eyes. It is dangerously close to the look Sam has right before a kill. Unforgiving, unapologetic want written in the lines of Sam’s face and even though he is asking for permission Dean has the bizarre notion that Sam would actually growl should Dean tell him ‘No’.  
  
Dean’s never been on the receiving end of such a look in a situation like this before and it knocks his world off its hinges. Demons and angels be damned, this is what it must feel like to truly be possessed by someone. There is no doubt in his mind that Sam’s laid claim on him and left Dean without a say in the matter and Dean can't find a single reason to object. He is mercilessly thrown between feeling stupidly proud over Sam for being such an alpha male and being turned on beyond any rhyme or reason. This sleeping with your brother business might not be as bad as he first thought but it is certainly confusing enough.  
  
“You're thinking too loud again.” Sam smirks and closes his pink lips around the head of Dean’s cock and the last remaining coherency that Dean has flies out the window with the moan that spills out of his open mouth.  
  
Sam is good, really fucking good, licking Dean up, sucking him down until Dean thinks his brain might actually melt and drip out of his ears like sludge. For every bob of Sam’s head Dean lets go a little bit more. He can’t not to. Sam strokes every layer of resistance away with his tongue and Dean has no other choice but to give himself over to him completely. Sam never said  _‘mine’_ , he didn't have to, Dean still answers  _‘yours’_ over and over in his mind like a mantra. He’s losing himself and he’s got no way of stopping it. Not that he would if he could.  
  
Sam takes his time, picking Dean apart one small piece after another and when the orgasm comes it doesn't come with fireworks or falling skies, it comes in waves, like a wind through a grain field that caresses Dean’s nerves and the inside of his skin and when Sam kisses him and he can taste himself on his brother’s lips he can't hold the emotions in anymore. They spill over as tears, clinging to dark lashes and Dean tries to turn away because this is beyond pathetic but Sam won't let him. He holds Dean’s face between his giant hands and kisses every trace of tears away. He drags his thumbs under Dean’s eyes and smiles.  
  
“Coffee?”  
  
“But…” Dean stutters “You… shouldn’t I… I mean… what about you?”  
  
“Don’t worry about it.” Sam says as he jumps off the bed and adjusts himself in his boxers “Plenty of time.” He smiles wide and happy “So how about that coffee huh? Get cleaned up and I’ll take care of breakfast.”  
  
Dean doesn't want to shower. He doesn't want to rinse the traces of Sam off because he’s still not sure this isn't all a dream but he figures he has to if Sam’s ever going to want to touch him again and he really wants Sam to touch him again. It feels nice once he’s actually in the shower though.

 

When he gets out the bunker smells like coffee and… something else.  
  
“Sam! What are you doing?” He shouts as he dries his hair with the towel and pads out to the library.   
  
“Burning pancakes!” Sam shouts back and then a loud bang follows as Sam drops something in the sink. He shows up seconds later in his boxers, a t-shirt stained with flour and a frown on his face. “I killed your breakfast.”  
  
Dean laughs then. It’s one of those genuine, from the gut laughs that he remembers from when he was younger and Sam looks almost scared which just makes Dean laugh harder. He’s doubled over with his hands on his knees, wheezing and it’s such a shock to his system that he almost loses balance. It’s like everything is lighter, brighter, the memories have finally taken a break from haunting his mind .  
  
“It’s fine.” he says when he finally gets himself under control “Just coffee’s fine.”   
  
“Wasn’t that funny.” Sam says and the pout on his face almost sets Dean off again.  
  
Sam’s eyes are slightly narrowed but there’s the hint of a smile on his face when he turns back to the kitchen to get them each a cup of coffee.


	7. The virgin and the wicked.

They move around each other differently now Dean notices. It’s almost like a dance. When their feet meet under the table no one is pulling away. When their hands accidentally brush together the moment stretches out and the movements slow down and turn what used to be just a bump of knuckles into a caress. Sam has this new expression on his face, there’s softness to his features that weren’t there before. The lines around his eyes aren’t as deep and his eyebrows don’t scrunch together in the middle as much as they used to. Dean never realized how sad that had made Sam look. 

Sam tells him about the days at the motel, the days before the fire. How he had planned to leave for Canada or Alaska, someplace cold, which makes sense because Sam always did burn a little bit hotter than everyone else. He never could make himself buy the ticket though. Every day he had walked down to the bus station and every day he went back to his room empty handed. He hadn’t expected to see Dean again but he still hadn’t been able to let him go, so he had waited. 

“I think I waited for fate or something to step in.” Sam said “I guess I wasn’t able to put anymore distance between us than I already had.”

They share a bed every night now. It’s crowded and too warm but it’s totally worth it just for the ways Sam keeps waking Dean up in the mornings. Big hands and soft lips on his skin and every time Dean is left wrung out and panting for breath while Sam just seems to get invigorated. There’s a contained energy about Sam. Like somewhere behind those calm, slanted eyes Sam is five years old again and every day is Christmas day and Dean can’t help but get a little bit caught up in it. There’s a flutter in his stomach and an itch just under his skin that only close proximity to Sam can scratch. 

It’s like everything is different yet nothing has really changed. Sam spends most of his days going through some old books and Dean, even though he tries to be productive gets bored too soon and starts poking around until Sam sighs and tells him to ‘sit your ass down and stop running around’ because apparently it makes Sam nervous and ruins his concentration.

Dean saunters off to his own room to give Sam some space to work and checks his neglected phone for the first time in weeks. There’s a message from Charlie ‘Hey Romeo. How’s it going?’ Dean types ‘Shut up!’ and is just about to hit send when he changes his mind and adds a ‘;)’ at the end. Charlie’s response is immediate. ‘ABOUT DAMN TIME! Congrats man.’

Dean shakes his head. It’s sort of unsettling how not freaked out Charlie is. Somehow it would make Dean feel more at ease with the world if there was some repercussion for what’s going on with him and Sam. Something as fucked up as this can’t possibly just slide by without consequence. There should be lightning bolts striking them down or something Dean thinks, it would make more sense than freaking ‘Congratulations’.

He brings out his laptop. He googles ‘incest’ and ‘I’m in love with my brother’ but via some twins embracing each other in only their boxers Dean pretty quickly finds himself on gay porn sites. He’s been here before but this time he’s not here to jerk off, he’s here to learn. He hasn’t even given Sam a blowjob yet. It’s not because he doesn’t want to because God knows he does but Sam seems to always end up in control of the situation somehow no matter what Dean does and Sam doesn’t seem to be in any rush to take things further whatsoever. He seems perfectly happy just being allowed to touch Dean whenever he wants. 

Dean wants more though. Now that he finally has this he wants it all but he’s not sure how to talk to Sam about it. He wants things that he doesn’t know how to ask for and doesn’t know how to do and to be honest the whole thing is making Dean pretty damn nervous. He figures the mechanics of it can’t be that hard to figure out but he still feels like a damn virgin and it’s just not sitting well with Dean. Also he doesn’t like to be out done by Sam and the way things are going right now he is… big time.

The porn surfing doesn’t help much though. There are only so many ways to have sex and there is nothing on here that he hasn’t seen before. He figures he’s just going to have to rely on the experience he has and a whole lot of enthusiasm. No one’s ever complained before except that fucking girl with the bunny outfit in her closet. Dean’s always said that he’d try anything once but that was the day he found out that that wasn’t exactly true.

Sam is sprawled out on the couch in front of the TV when Dean finally gives up his own quest for knowledge and goes out to get himself another cup of coffee.

“Scoot over.” He says and nudges Sam in the head with his leg, coffee cup in his hand. 

Sam pushes up on his elbow just enough for Dean to fit and the second Dean’s ass is on the couch Sam lays back down with his head in Dean’s lap. Sam has started doing things like this lately, little things he used to do way back when he was just a kid. Dean can’t remember how many movies they’ve sat through just like this, Sam’s head in his lap and Dean’s hand in his hair, twirling Sam’s wayward locks around his fingers. Dean would make up side stories for the characters that made Sam giggle and call Dean silly. Dean smiles at the memory. Sam hasn’t called him silly in a very long time.

“Hey Sam.”

“Mmmm.”

“How many guys have you been with?” It’s out of his mouth before he really has time to think things through.

Sam turns his head and looks up at Dean with almost a guarded look on his face.

“Dunno.” He says “It depends. Why?”

“Not sure. It’s not that I’m jealous… “ 

“Really?” Sam questions in a tone that definitely says that he doesn’t believe that for a second.

”Well, okay it is,” Dean admits “but it’s not just that. I’m just seriously lacking in the experience department here and… I don’t know, it messes with my head.”

Sam smirks up at him. “I bet. Scared I won’t be impressed?”

“Dammit Sam!”

“Okay. Sorry.” He doesn’t stop smirking though so Dean’s not sure how honest that apology really is.

Sam sits up and turns towards Dean on the couch, smile slowly giving way to a more concerned look as he fixes the collar of Dean’s shirt, stroking out the folds on the shoulders with the palms of his hands.

“Dean, there is nothing you could do when it comes to this that would disappoint me, you realize that don’t you? No matter what you do or don’t do, just being able to touch you will always be enough. This is not about getting off, this is… something else.”

Dean searches Sam’s eyes for a hint of a lie but there is none. And he gets it, he really does. This is something different. This is not about fucking, this is about… Making love his brain helpfully supplies. ‘Huh’ Dean thinks, he never knew there was a difference.

“Still, I wanna know.” Dean presses on. “I feel like a fucking virgin and I don’t like it. It makes me nervous.” 

“As I said, it depends.” Sam says and shrugs.

“That’s a weird ass answer Sam. Care to elaborate?”

“It just depends how you look at it. On one hand I have never been with anyone else.” Dean raises a skeptic eyebrow.

“No, it’s true.” Sam insures “I never could. I don’t know if it’s because they were men or what but as soon as I got close to maybe doing something I started comparing… and they always fell short. It just didn’t seem fair to them you know.”

“Always the gentleman.” Dean grins.

“Not always.” Sam responds and looks away. “When I lost my soul I… He didn’t care much about that at all. There were a lot of men Dean. A lot. ”

“Oh.” Dean equivalently supplies.

“Yeah Oh.”

“So… you saved yourself for me. That’s sweet.”

“Shut up Dean.”

“No I mean it. You waited for me which is all kinds of adorable and yet you got all this experience. That’s awesome!” Dean really does mean it. Somehow he can’t find it in himself to be jealous of the things Sam did when he wasn’t all there. Not even a little. “I think you just managed to solve the Madonna-whore complex.”

“That’s stupid.” 

“No. It’s fucking brilliant!” Dean grins wide. “So tell me about it. What was that soulless asshole up to when I wasn’t looking?”

Sam blushes crimson red and Dean finds that absolutely adorable. 

“Basically everything.” Sam says and averts his eyes “Men, women, anyone he found attractive he would go after and it’s weird but no one ever turned him down. Not even the straight guys.”

“Jesus Sam!”

“Yeah I know. But there’s one thing I will never understand.”

“What’s that?”

“Why he never made a move on you. I mean I am eternally grateful that he didn’t, I just don’t understand why because believe me – He wanted to.”

“He did?” Dean ponders this for a second and to his own surprise he doesn’t find that thought totally repulsive. Not even a tiny bit if he’s completely honest with himself.

“He used to have all these fantasies about bending you over the hood of the car, holding you down and… yeah well you get it. He watched you sleep, he watched you in the shower, he walked three steps behind you just so he could check out your ass… “

Dean’s face is starting to heat up now too and he’s finding it hard to get air into his lungs. That soulless version of his brother may have been a scary son of a bitch but he was one sexy as hell son of a bitch too and the images that Sam is painting up have Dean panting and hard as a rock and just a bit upset that the asshole never made his move. Sam is looking away, almost talking to himself, remembering, but Dean knows that the second Sam looks back at him the game will be up. They know each other too well. He still crosses his legs to try and hide some of the evidence.

“Maybe somewhere in that lizard brain of his he recognized you as forbidden territory or something and that’s what held him back, I don’t know, but whatever reason he had not to go there I am happy he didn’t.” Sam continues and closes his eyes with a sigh. When he opens them again he’s looking straight at Dean, who desperately tries to look like he’s not at all turned on by anything Sam just said, which of course just makes the situation worse.

At first Sam just looks confused, then surprised and then his entire face changes. His eyes narrow and a smirk curves his lips up in the corners.

“Oh.” He says in this honey coated voice. “So that’s how it is.”

It’s clearly a statement and not a question. He leans closer to Dean, moving his shoulders in this cat like way that Dean remembers from that other sexy bastard.

“You know Dean,” He whispers close to Dean’s ear “I might not be alone in here anymore and I’m definitely not in charge but I can still come out and play if you want me to.”

Dean’s never been so close to swallowing his own tongue in his life and the whimper he lets out before he manages to bite down on his bottom lip and shut himself the hell up is nothing short of pathetic. If there is an emotion that contains both fear and mind blowing arousal that’s the one he’s having. Sam leans in even closer, breath hot and lips damp against Dean’s ear. 

“I’m taking your lack of response as a yes and you’ll have to stop me if I’m wrong... but I don’t think I am.” Sam continues and then licks a warm trail down Dean’s neck.

Dean is pushed back into the couch, held in place by the weight of his brother leaning over him as he sucks the sensitive skin on Dean’s neck into his mouth. Dean just tilts his head back, rests it on the back of the couch and gives Sam all the room he demands because if there’s anything Dean’s learned these last few days it’s that Sam has him wrapped around his little finger tighter than Dean ever thought possible. When Sam holds him down like this, when Sam stakes his claim and takes control, Dean gives in every time and he does it with a damn smile on his face. 

Sam’s rougher than he usually is, holding Dean down with intent and he’s got his hand fisted in Dean’s hair pulling just enough to be on the right side of painful. Had it been anyone else this would freak Dean out he’s sure, but this is Sam. Sam’s hands, Sam’s lips and Sam’s cock pressing up against his thigh and it’s such a turn on Dean is breaking out in a sweat just from the effort it takes to try and sit still.

Sam leans back a little and looks at Dean, eyes on fire and lips wet and parted. He is absolutely mesmerizing and in that moment Dean understands why no one ever turned soulless Sam down. The intensity in Sam’s face and the way his eyes seem to see nothing else but you, total focus and a presence that fills every corner of the huge bunker. You would have to be both deaf and blind to walk away from this Dean thinks. 

“Whaddaya say we do something about that annoying little virginity problem of yours huh?” Sam says with a hint of threat in the tone of his voice. He bites his bottom lip as he lets one of his fingers trail down Dean’s chest, over his stomach and over the bulge in his jeans.

Sam is too good at this, at pushing buttons, driving Dean up the wall and Dean is so out of his depth it’s not even funny. Dean wants to say ‘Yes. That’s the best idea you ever had’ but what comes out is more of a “yeasss…“ hissed out between his teeth. Fortunately Sam seems to get it anyway. He grabs Dean’s wrists and pins them down into the soft couch and crashes his lips into Dean’s. He smells so good but he tastes even better and Dean is losing himself a little more with every touch of tongue, every scrape of teeth and the way Sam bites his lip and sucks it into his mouth, humming around it like it’s a piece of candy leaves Dean disoriented and dizzy.

Sam knows Dean. He knows every look on his face, every movement, every little giveaway and it has never been more obvious than now. Sam plays him like a fiddle as he removes Dean’s clothes, has him arching off the couch with tiny teasing touches and the obscene things he can do with his mouth, mapping every patch of skin that gets unwrapped. Always a step ahead, slowing down just before Dean starts to feel like he can’t take anymore and picking it back up just in time before Dean gets his bearings back, keeping him floating in a foggy bliss unit his last piece of clothing is lying in a heap on the floor. 

Dean is so relaxed and out of it that when the first finger slides into him there is no resistance at all. It’s not until Sam is knuckle deep that Dean reacts and tenses up.

“Shhh.” Sam soothes blowing hot air across Dean’s thigh. 

Where the hell did Sam get the lube and when did he manage to coat his fingers with it? Dean never even heard the cap pop. ‘You smooth son of a bitch’ he has time to think before a second finger pushes in next to the first one and his mind flat lines.

This time it stretches and burns a little but in the most magnificent way. Sam has his unoccupied hand playing with Dean’s nipples and every time he spreads his fingers in Dean’s ass, stretching him a little further, he pinches and twists a nipple, completely removing the focus of the pain. Dean is shivering and sweat is dripping down his back as Sam moves his fingers in and out of him, pumping to the rhythm of Dean’s rapid heartbeat.

Dean’s leaning back against the back of the couch; his legs are spread, one foot on the floor and one leg resting on Sam’s shoulder where he’s kneeling between Dean’s thighs. Dean’s got a firm grip on what he thinks is the couch cushion but could be some of Sam’s discarded clothing; he’s not sure because he doesn’t dare open his eyes to look. The visual of what is happening in front of him would end this much sooner than he wants it to, whatever it is Sam is doing to him he wants this to go on for a long time, possibly forever.

Dean can feel warm drops of lube running down the crack of his ass and Sam’s fingers crook and bend, stroking his insides in all the right places. There are flashes of heat radiating from his pelvis out through his limbs making his toes spread out like fans and tightening his hands into fists. Sam moves, changes angle, pushes even deeper, increases the pace and every nerve in Dean’s body feels like it catches fire. His head snaps back, exposing the full length of his neck and he cries out

“Sam! Fuck… please I… I can’t…”

“Sure you can.” he hears Sam’s teasing voice from somewhere between his thighs and then firm, wet lips are closing around the head of his cock.

There must be more than two fingers in his ass by now, all of them rubbing that same spot inside him that has him gasping for breath, trying to get some air down passed the tightness of his chest. Sam is matching the movement of his mouth with the slide of his fingers, pull out and slide down, slide up push in, over and over and it’s torture and it’s heaven and everything in between and Dean thinks it might be possible to go insane from this. 

Then the sparks flying through his nerves change direction, they’re pulling back like a tide, leaving his limbs and gathering in an increasingly heavy ball of fire in the pit of his stomach. Dean tries to hold off, putting all of his will and strength into it but when he feels himself hitting the back of Sam’s throat he’s doomed. The fireball erupts, exploding into tiny fragments that pierce through his skin and flickers in front of his eyes like tiny little stars. There’s nothing he can do but to let it come, it’s pouring out of him in pulses that has his chest heaving and his legs shaking. 

He is still vibrating with it, dripping come, white streams down his cock when Sam pushes into him, balls deep in a matter of seconds and Dean cries out, almost sobbing. It’s not from pain, not really, it’s the intensity of it all. It feels like Sam is filling up every empty space inside of him, like he’s filling up all the cracks and potholes and bleeding gashes that Dean is made of. He has to let it out somehow or he’s scared he’ll fry from the inside out. 

Sam doesn’t wait, he’s got Dean’s legs in a tight grip and he pulls Dean to him on every thrust that he makes, slamming into him, fucking him into the couch and there is nothing more for Dean to spill but his body still zings from the orgasm that’s ripping through his body, every thrust breathing new life into it making it spark to life again and again. 

Sam fills him up completely, like he belongs there, like there will never be room for anyone else ever again. Dean’s not even sure it is his body anymore, he’s not sure they didn’t fuse together, moving and breathing as one single being.

When Sam comes with his lips pressed against Dean’s and his hands on Dean’s waist, Dean is nothing more than a ragdoll in the hands of his brother. Sam’s shaking and he’s moaning Dean’s name over and over, gripping him tight enough to leave bruises down his sides. Dean wraps his legs and arms around Sam, pulling him down until they are chest to chest and Sam can hide his face against Dean’s neck. Dean can feel Sam’s heart beating just on top of his own and somewhere in his fucked out mind he has a thought that this must be as close to home as he’s ever been.

***  
“I thought you hated him. I mean me, soulless.” Sam says.

It’s not an accusation. Sam looks more curious than anything. He’s wrapped up in a blanket, still completely naked underneath, curled up in the corner of the couch cradling an orange teacup in his hands. The steam is rising in front of his face and he peers at Dean over the rim.

Dean shrugs as he tries to locate his t-shirt “I didn’t hate him, it was still you, or part of you at least but I didn’t like him very much.”

“Then what was that all about?” Sam motions to the other end of the couch where Dean’s fingernails have left marks on the leather.

Dean shrugs again and smirks “He was hot.”

“He looked just like me you idiot.” Sam laughs.

“No he didn’t. He knew how to use a hairbrush.” Dean says in a serious voice and ruffles Sam’s hair as he passes on his way to the bathroom. 

“Jerk.” Sam mumbles, mostly to himself as he flattens his hair with his hand and glares after Dean.

“You love me and you know it!” Dean calls over his shoulder and ducks into the bathroom, closing the door just in time to avoid getting hit by a flying pillow.


	8. Epilogue; Sasquatch beds and late nigh epiphanies

“I wanna move in with you.” Sam says out of the blue a few weeks later.

They are having lunch at a diner fifty miles north of home, on their way back from a quick salt and burn job Sam found looking through old newspaper articles.

“Uhh… We already live together genius.”

“No, I mean I think we should move my bed into your room when we get back. Your room is bigger. Or maybe we could by a new one. A king size.” Sam smiles around a mouth full of muffins, chocolate crumbs stuck to his bottom lip and Dean would totally lick them off if they weren’t in public. He doesn’t care what Charlie thinks, this isn’t some freaking chick flick and he and Sam are not a love story and despite Sam’s best efforts Dean has managed to keep the PDA to a minimum.

“Sure.” He says, eyes fixed on where Sam is slowly licking the crumbs into his mouth.

Chocolate on Sam is potentially the best taste combination in all of history. That should be a pie Dean decides. Chocolate Sam with whipped cream…

“Wait… What did I just agree to?” His eyes snap up to meet Sam’s.

Sam just laughs “Too late man. You’re so easy.” Sam licks his lips again and smirks.

“Fucking cheater.” Dean grumbles into his plate but it’s really all just for show.

He did hear what Sam said but he’s going to pretend he didn’t so he can moan and bitch his way through the furniture store and blame Sam for everything when they have to carry a king sized mattress down the stairs.

There’s something going on with Sam. Dean’s been watching him for a while now. He’s happier that’s for sure but it’s not just that, there is something else, something more fundamental. It’s like he’s slowly changing in front of Dean’s eyes but the more he changes the more Dean recognizes him. It’s like living in a constant state of déjà vu. Sam is sharper, quicker and more focused. He sleeps better and he’s not hunching his shoulders anymore. His back is straight and he holds his head high, towering over everyone like a sun. He’s curious again, asking questions, poking and prodding at anything he doesn’t understand and he’s saving animals. Sam hasn’t done that since he was a kid. Last week it was a baby bird that got lifted back to the nest after first being photographed by an over enthusiastic Sam, this week it was a litter of kittens that got delivered to a shelter. Dean just stands by and watches in amazement. It’s like every day that passes Sam heals a little more and slowly turns into the man he always should have been had their life been a different, less traumatizing one.

The pieces slowly start to snap into place for Dean a day later. They’re at the furniture store and Dean is walking around in the massive building without any intent at all. Sam is discussing beds in general and mattresses in particular with a perky salesman that is slowly getting on Dean’s nerves and giving him a headache. He lifts a glass vase, turns it over a few times and puts it back; he does the same thing with a lamp and a few candleholders. ‘And what the fuck is up with all the pillows, do people really need this many?’ he ponders as he moves one pillow from one end of a couch to the other one. He decides to try out the beds, after all that’s why they are here.

On his way back to the bed section of the store he passes a sign. Available up to 8' x 7'3" the sign says with sharp red letters and it’s placed on top of a mattress large as a fucking football field. Dean stops dead in his tracks. He’s found a Sasquatch bed.

“Hey Sam.” He calls across the ten or so beds that are lined up between him and his brother and waves. “C’mere, I think I found it.”

He watches as Sam excuses himself and walks over with a slightly annoyed expression on his face. “Really Dean?” He says when he’s close enough for Dean to hear him even if he’s almost whispering.

“I feel like I’m out with my kid!”

“Stop whining and check this out.” Dean smiles wide and points at the sign “I found a bed for ginormouses. No matter which way you turn in this bed you’ll fit.”

“That’s not even a word.”

“Is too. It is now. Whaddaya say Ginormous? Ya want it?

Sam stares at the bed for a moment, eyes growing bigger by the second and Dean can see how the annoyed expression on Sam’s face gives way to pure excitement. And then Dean feels it, two fingers slipping through his belt loop and grabbing hold.

“It’s really expensive.” Sam says under his breath.

Dean looks down at the fingers clasping his jeans, follows the arm they’re attached to up to Sam’s face. Sam, who seems completely unaware of what his hand is doing, just keeps staring at the bed with his mouth half open.

“I don’t care. If you want it it’s yours.” Dean says, his voice too soft to his own ears but Sam’s face, split open by the most brilliant smile, makes it totally worth it.

 

***

 

They have the bed delivered and dropped off almost a mile from the hidden dirt road leading in to the bunker. By the time they reach the front door, carrying the bed between them, they are dirty and sweaty and Dean’s been swearing up a blue streak every other minute all the way there. It’s a monster of a bed and Dean is seriously questioning his sanity. It seemed like such a good idea back at the store but he’s starting to think that there is something almost pathetic about how far he will go just to put a smile on Sam’s face and he prays to anyone listening that Sam never figures that out. He casts a look in Sam’s direction. Sam is just as sweaty and tired as Dean is but he smiles back at Dean like Dean is the center of the universe and Dean can almost hear the unspoken words in his head, ‘You’re the best big brother ever’. There’s a tiny bit of smugness in Sam’s face though, no more than a flicker in his eyes but it’s there none the less, clear as day. Fuck it, Sam already knows. Dean’s so screwed.

Once the bed is in place, pushed up into one corner to leave some room to walk around, Dean changes his mind again. This was the best idea he’s ever had. It’s more of a landscape of awesomeness than an actual bed Dean declares and throws himself face first onto the mattress.

Sam’s leaning against the doorframe, hands in his pockets and smiling that half smile of his that has one corner of his lips curved up just a tiny bit and the rest of the smile shining out of his eyes. Dean peers over his shoulder and back at Sam in the doorway.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

“Nothin’. Everything.” Sam shrugs “You.”

Dean rolls over on his back, hands behind his head and smirks.

“Yeah? What about me?”

“That I like your ass in those jeans for starters.”

Sam’s eyes narrow and his smile widens in a way that Dean’s become increasingly familiar with during these last few weeks. Sam walks over to the foot of the bed looking for all intents and purposes like he’s just out for a stroll but Dean’s pulse is already picking up speed and he sucks his bottom lip in between his teeth as he keeps his eyes on his brother.

Sam starts to untie Dean’s boots, first the left then the right, pulling the straps loose in a way that makes them crack like a whip against the leather. Dean just watches without a word, unblinking and unbreathing as Sam pulls his boots and socks off and drops them on the floor next to the bed. After that it’s the pants turn to go and then the shirts. It all ends up in a pile on the floor at the foot of the bed and Dean ends up naked, laid out on the bed like a sacrifice, out of breath and with his cock hard and curved up across his belly. He still hasn’t said anything, neither has Sam. Talking is overrated anyway and completely unnecessary.

Sam undresses where he stands, just lets his clothing drop at his feet adding to the pile of denim and cotton already there and crawls up over Dean, straddling his hips with the lube in his hand.

“You sneaky son of a bitch.” Dean huffs out then, unable to hold it in even though he knows that he’d do best keeping his big mouth shut “Do you ever go anywhere without that?”

He reaches for the tube in Sam’s hand but he doesn’t even get close before his hands are pinned down over his head, long fingers wrapped tight around his wrists.

“Do. Not. Move.” Sam growls in his ear, breath hot across Dean’s neck and Dean shivers, a full head to toe shiver that has Sam smirking and looking terribly pleased with himself.

The thing about having sex with Sam Dean has come to realize is that there is no way to keep any kind of control of the situation. It doesn’t matter what position they do it in, who initiates it, who does the fucking and who’s getting fucked, Sam will always dominate the living crap out of him. And the weirdest part of that is that Dean likes it. He likes it a lot. There’s a kind of serenity in giving up control that Dean’s never experienced before, he never would have been able to. There’s rest in trusting someone so much that you can offer them full access to your heart, soul and body and know, truly know that they would never betray that trust.

Outside the bedroom Dean fights hard to keep his role as the boss of this particular duo. Big brother is big brother dammit. But here, when they are naked and horny and desperate, here Sam takes the reins and Dean couldn’t be happier handing them over because God knows he needs a break every now and then. Safe in their little bubble Dean is able to let himself be taken care of and he revels in it, drinks it up, swallows it down like a man starving.

Sam is fingering himself, opening himself up and Dean keeps his hands above his head even though his fingers twitch with the desire to touch. He wants to slide them up Sam’s thighs, over his abs and his chest. He wants to wrap his fingers around that long neck that Sam is exposing when he’s got his head tilted back and his face to the ceiling like he has right now. But he doesn’t. Sam told him not to move and as tempting as it is to disobey the thrill of obeying is greater.

Sam lets himself slide down, penetrating himself on Dean’s cock and Dean jerks, his hips snapping up without his consent and he lets out a strangled ‘Oh fuck’ because Sam is hot and tight and perfect and Dean needs to move, he needs to say something or he might actually shake apart. Sam grabs Dean’s wrists again, pressing Dean’s hands deep into the mattress as he rides him slow but with intent.

“Shhh, quiet big brother.” He whispers against Dean’s lips “I gotcha.” And Dean relaxes into their bed with a sigh, it’s almost a as a pavlovian response at this point. Then Sam does that thing with his hips that has Dean seeing noting but flashes of light and Dean completely loses the ability to talk anyway.

 

***

 

It’s later when the room has gone quiet, when the mess they made is cleaned up and sleep is trying to drag Dean under that the final piece of the Sam puzzle snaps into place.

Dean’s got one arm wrapped around Sam’s waist and the other one pillowing his head as Sam is drifting off in front of him like a very big little spoon. Despite Sam’s dominance in bed it always ends the same way, with Sam curling up in Dean’s arms just as he did when he was much smaller and much more afraid of the dark than he is now. Sam’s got his long fingers curled around Dean’s thumb like he has most nights but it isn’t until this very moment that Dean realizes what a strange thing that is to do for someone with such big hands, it’s not the most comfortable way of holding hands when the hand you’re holding is smaller than yours.

Dean’s mind flashes back to earlier that same day at the furniture store and Sam’s fingers holding his belt loop just as he used to do as a kid when he got excited about something and needed Dean to ground him. He thinks back to all the times these last weeks when Sam had put his head in Dean’s lap, to how he fiddles with the frayed edges of Dean’s jeans when they’re in the car and to how Sam falls asleep on the long drives with his head on Dean’s shoulder and Dean’s jacket wrapped around him.

It’s not new. It’s all things that Sam used to do when he was a kid. All of it things Dean used to let him do until… until that night by the side of the road. After that it all ended. All the little touches, all the sneaking into each other’s beds at night, all the casual little things that Sam did to feel safe, it all just went away and there is no one to blame for that but Dean. He just couldn’t trust himself around his brother anymore after that. All the physical closeness that used to be platonic became electrified, igniting Dean’s skin and making him hot, turning something that used to be normal into something wrong and dirty. So he pushed Sam away. He pushed until Sam stopped trying. ‘Not normal Dean. Safe’ isn’t that what Sam had said? ‘Not normal. Safe.’ 

Dean hadn’t given Sam a sense of security; he was Sam’s sense of security.

All through their childhood and early teens Dean used his own body as Sam’s emotional safety net. When Sam had nightmares Dean let him sleep on his arm. When Sam was scared he’d say ‘Just hold on to me Sammy, it’ll be alright’. When Sam was stressed Dean would lay Sam down with his head in Dean’s lap and twirl Sam’s hair around his fingers until half of Sam’s head was covered in tiny little dreadlocks and his breathing evened out and when Sam was frustrated they would wrestle until Sam got it out of his system. It has always been about touch. They have never been any good at communicating in any other way. Words have never come easy to Dean and they both have issues listening to anyone else other than themselves. Dean knew this. He has always known this.

And yet he took their one line of clear communication away. From one day to the next.

Dean can feel the tears welling up behind his closed eyelids. Maybe Sam never ran away from him. Maybe he was the one to run away and maybe Sam’s been trying to find someone to take his place ever since, someone to lean on, someone to ground him when chaos was the only game in town, someone to keep a hand on Sam’s skin to help his soul find its way back when it gets lost. Dean used to be that person, but then he took off. He ran away and left a vacancy easily filled by the Jessicas and Rubys and Amelias of the world.

Dean can feel the anger and the familiar sense of self-loathing simmering just under his skin. As usual he just made things worse in his attempts to protect his brother. He just wanted to do the right thing; he has always tried his best to do that so why does he keep making things worse? He never had to cut Sam off the way he did. His actions were motivated by fear and shame but he redressed it as care and protection, as something he did for Sam’s own good. He never asked himself what Sam might have wanted or how Sam might have felt about it. He never asked Sam at all. He never does. As always he just made a decision all on his own about what would be best for his brother and then he pushed Sam away with such force he probably pushed him all the way to California. And as a grand finale he turned around and blamed Sam for leaving. Awesome!

Dean tightens his hold on Sam and buries his face in Sam’s hair. ‘One job Dean, on job…’

“I’m sorry.” he whispers “I’m so so sorry. I didn’t realize… But I’m here now okay? I gotcha now and I’m not letting go.” Sam’s hair is getting wet and sticks to Dean’s face as he cries.

Sam stirs and peeks back over his shoulder with half lidded eyes and face pale from sleep.

“Hey.” He says, voice muffled against his own shoulder. “You’re squeezing me pretty tight. You dreamin’?”

Dean shakes his head and presses his face deeper into Sam’s hair smelling of soap and faintly of lemon and evergreen. He can’t say anything. He can’t speak. Opening his mouth now would be like opening Pandora’s box and that’s something he doesn’t want to deal with right now, nor ever if he’s completely honest.

“Hey.” Sam says again in a slightly more worried tone and nudges Dean with his elbow “What’s the matter?”

Dean just shakes his head again, strands of Sam’s hair plastered to Dean’s face and it’s getting hard to breathe. His body is desperately trying to pull in air, the muscles in his stomach twitching as he tries to hold the sobs in, his teeth grinding together. Dean tries to hold Sam where he is but Sam turns in Dean’s arms anyway, taking Dean’s shelter away and he ends up eye to eye with his brother.

“Hey.” It’s a third version of the same word but this time it comes out as a caress, a soft touch to Dean’s breaking heart. “You’re crying.”

It’s more than Dean’s able to take. The final straw, or drop or whatever. When Sam’s thumb connects with Dean’s skin as it wipes a tear away from his jaw Dean shatters like glass. It feels a little like being gutted with a dull blade when the sobs finally tear through his body, loud and pathetic and he tries to curl in on himself but Sam’s in the way.

“Shh.” Sam tries to soothe but Dean catches the glimmer of fear in his eyes “Shh, hey, c’mere…” Sam says and wraps his long arms around Dean, tucking Dean’s head in under his chin and splays his fingers wide across Dean’s back.

They are pressed together tightly, chest to chest, legs tangled, twined together under the covers and Dean just cries. Sam rakes his fingers through Dean’s hair.

“And anytime you feel the pain,” he hums “hey Jude, refrain.” Sam’s voice is so quiet Dean doesn’t hear it as much as he feels it reverberating against his cheek, just a low rumble in Sam’s chest. “Don't carry the world upon your shoulders…”

‘Oh c’mon!’ Dean thinks. ‘How is this fair?’ 

Sam doesn’t know any more of the words, just a phrase here and there but he keeps humming as he strokes Dean’s hair and Dean feels himself give in despite of himself. He relaxes in Sam’s arms and for once, he lets himself cry until he’s truly done. He doesn’t try to pull himself together. He doesn’t try to silence himself. He cries until his face is swollen, until his tears dry up on their own making his face feel tight and he feels wrung out like a damp wash cloth, he cries until he is sick and tired of all the guilt and is so damn done with it he even manages to let some of it go. Sam doesn’t stop humming until Dean’s breathing, apart from some tiny tremors, is even.

“Better?” Sam holds Dean’s face between his hands and drags his thumbs across his cheeks.

Dean nods. “Yeah.”

“What’s happening here? Should I be worried?” Sam’s hands are still bracketing Dean’s face as he speaks.

“I… I’m not sure.” Dean lies.

He knows exactly what’s going on but he can’t really find a good reason to tell Sam about it. If he tells Sam that he just realized that the reason Sam’s been feeling so worried all his adult life is because of Dean and his anti-touch policy, Sam would either laugh it off or start to take every touch from Dean from that point onward as a pity touch. Sam would start to worry that Dean only touched him because Dean thought he needed it and that’s the last thing Dean wants.  
He just wants to be able to have this without any angst, without giving Sam a single reason to doubt what they have or that Dean wants it. He just wants to start over. 

“I really don’t know Sam.” Dean places his hand on top of Sam’s where it’s resting on Dean’s cheek. “I think I’m just overwhelmed. I think it all just finally sank in you know. Like I really get to have this, you know what I mean?”

“So… What you’re saying is that… it’s happy tears?” Sam looks skeptical but he manages to look so hopeful at the same time that Dean has to smile.

“Yeah, Sam. That’s what I’m saying.” He kisses his brother’s lips, soft but quick, just a chaste peck. 

Sam still doesn’t look completely convinced. There is still a hint of a question lingering in the way he looks over Dean’s face with his eyebrows slightly raised. It must have been the answer he was hoping for though because the question never comes, instead Sam tilts his head just a little and smiles that tiny fond smile of his. 

“You're kind of adorable, you know that?” Sam says and smiles wider.

“Yeah, I know. Now can we get some sleep please and end this nightmare of a chick flick. And if you ever talk about this again I will punch you in the face. Fair warning.”

Sam kisses him for real then. It’s soft and warm and almost reverent and Dean melts into it, he lets Sam drag him under, he loses himself in it to the point where he almost startles when Sam backs away. 

“Okay” Sam says and curls into his previous position in front of Dean. His fingers curling around Dean’s thumb.

Dean smiles to himself in the dark. He’s getting a do-over and this time he’s getting it right. This time he knows what to do and this time he’s going to make Sam happy or he’s going to die trying.

“Night Sam.” Dean whispers and places a soft kiss on the back of Sam’s head.

“Just go to sleep silly.” 

Yeah. This time they’ll be alright.


End file.
